The garden
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Somewhere there is a garden
where a blackbird always sings,
sunlight glimmers on green leaves
of trees and bushes and tall blades of grass,
everything shines.
softly in the distance
waters plash falling;
a warm and gentle wind rocks the branches
flowers dance, multi-coloured;
here, all wounds are healed
all tears are dried.
Breath comes too short as I am told of
tortures and slaughters
and unimaginable cruelty.
Only in my little space
where I have left undone…
can I find the place
to plant, gently water, watch and wait,
while in the garden a blackbird sings