On The Write Path

Invisible lines (Battlefield Earth) [JI#6]

For: "Journalistic Intentions" 

Battlefield Earth

INVISIBLE LINES

spinning top —
a bauble on a string
descends from heaven

Tourists in Capetown speak in various voices that ascend to the flat mountain top by way of a rotating cable car, walk around looking down, gazing at the town below them, the spance of sea, the hyrax sunning on a rock. They descend to the streets of seething calm having learned nothing from this alien world aloft of what awaits below.

spinning top —
a bauble on a string
descends from heaven

Bo-Kaap, Green Point, District 6, the city waits with its veneer of civility the hostility unspoken between the greeting and leavings of the day. The tour guides instruct about the troublesome past the rage that razed the zones where tribes once met in peace and mingled. They warn about the townships but do not offer solutions. And so it remains unsolved, this city in a movie film setting, holding its breath.

market bustle —
neglected streets empty
before night

In Kosovo they rant in irrational voices begrudging grievances from war and oppression, the once oppressed seeking revenge. Those praying for peace are careful what they say amidst the ruins. There is no peace, only a cessation of bombs and gunfire. And no jobs for the children spawned to replace those lost to war.

idle children
raised to fight — old warriors
dream of revenge

Sweden ruled the Baltic, fought the Danes, the Russians, even thought they owned the Norwegians. The Norsk disagreed. 91 years passed before King Oscar consented to let them go. Now, borders remains invisible but restless. The slightest breeze refreshens memories. How the Swedes turned their head to German aggression; how they let the plague run rampant, now and 700 years ago.

Make sure those damn
swedes haven't rotted — boil
and mix with potatoes

There is no line save sea and shore seen from the sky. A plane passing over the Red Sea notes the arm stretching towards the Jordan River and a saltier sea. Here lies a place where humans make lines in the sand to divide nations, where only time will erase hubris, where humility will reign among the sifting grains, long after they are gone.

Aloft the steward
speaks five languages — below
harsh words divide

© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [177.366] (14.mars.2021)