a cry for the terror of that terrible night in Paris - poem |
Of Paris and other terror : © Robert Reid November 2015 The shard A shard of light Through heaven falls, Brought there by frantic calls From Infidel troops in gardens crouching, Under heavy war burdens slouching. Mujhadeen have brought grim fire to bear, Shocked from complacency these troops trapped there. So in a distant land so foreign A boy officer unleashed deadly force To fall upon a land sovereign. Thus began this dreadful course That would a peaceful morning shatter, Falling brick and timber sunder Across the road will scatter. As death from nowhere will suddenly thunder much faster than the eye can see, Leaving the shattering sound so far above, Moves this slim graceful lethal assassin As a falcon stooping on hapless dove. This message from the West screams a last defiance Then with lung bursting blast bellowing Shatters lives and histories into dust, And so destroying a fragile alliance. In that silence before the screams That dust and smoke dance in dreams, A second is as an hour so it seems. There in the white cloaked ruins A small hand quivers a last pain, Blood seeps slowly sucking life into the dust This casualty never to laugh, run or play again. A soldier’s hand brushes hair from lifeless face, Gently seeking a pulse to feel. There behind a God carved ear so out of place The assassin’s gift glints grim grey A shard of steel A shard of light splits the dark night. Touching faces shadowed in fright, covered in darkness hidden from sight. Deep in his chest a powerful yearning- Born unholy of twisted learning, That sets a hatred fire burning. So this vapid youth of little ambition, Through insidious sacrilegious sedition, With sacred brothers in decision Swear a deed to strike a holy blow. Against them who behind hands speak Blasphemy of those sacred teachings, Of the Prophet ancient and Blessed To crush those infidel in that city low. Made famous by the steel clad peak Above the City of Light reaching, Its people so free its streets so loved So where thousands lift voices to soccer heroes urge, To streets where dancers surge, Quiet bistros where lovers and revelers entwine, It’s there, as moths to these lights called Our hate filled children gather and prayers mumble, Their greatest fear is on the scared path to stumble. So with vicious chattering of Kalashnikov fire, And thudding roar of improvised body bombs blast, Their terrible answer a crescendo roars And forever this place of love into shadow casts. The duet of terror and death split the peace of this night And the darkness of the horror smothers the City of Light. Bodies lie in random attitudes of death and so dismembered, So these pictures fly to the world to be remembered By cellular technology delivered. A bleeding Gendarme kneels on the cobbles hard Touching the face of a child so marred Her beauty torn and misshapen By a glinting glass shard A shard of light Gently caresses Hand carved rock That would direct sight block. But instead a pattern on the wall paints, Softly this light falls gently broken And so shines on the faces of saints. And on the altar glints a holy token Its significant shadow reaching To touch the soul of a man praying, The old fingers bound in supplication, The Rosary moving in smooth devotion, His lips in prayer his only motion, The tear on his cheek his only emotion. Deep within this holy palace tolls a bell, Its persistent strike sorrow doth spell, Of a terrible deed so evil doth tell. So too in that ancient Eastern city Where once Constantine on Christ took pity, The light filters through windows ancient On mosaic messages laid so patient. Men murmur prayer gentle and calm, there in devoted silence an Imam calls , his old hand counts dhikr As time smoothed beads of subha Through his pain knotted fingers flicker. His prayers he sings softly Pour out grief for the maimed, As he calls out to the Almighty His silent cry of anguish A terrible conflict foretells. In the distance he hears the ringing of the bells Tolling out grief to the Ancient City. Both men of faiths so different Ask the same Creator for the same pity. They cry out against such violence insane, Pleading both antagonists for mercy. So this insanity grips the world Pictures of Paris proliferate, and yet Lebanon’s terror is untold. Where will life end again? Cut short and maimed giving such pain, In this darkness of our spiritual night, Where terror real will bind our courage so tight, Will there be an end to this plight? Where now that Shard That shard of light? |