the eleventh of september.
Tell me the pictures on your mantlepieces,
still remind you of your life before it,
and that the air,
lingers around with a sense of loss.
Tell them you took those bloody bodies right across to your heart where they cannot find them,
tell them that the ones who said
I’ll be back soon tonight
you still wait for them in the dreariness of this night.
And numbers made it to the news the next day.
and the ghosts, shall forever haunt everyone else.
the26th of November,
when we watched,
in the comforts of our homes,
what an fanatic idea had done to us.
And one walked between the little spaces left between fallen bodies,
and one walked with candles in his hands,
and one walks to a stone engraved,
and lays flowers that were still fresh,
and spread their fragrance,
over the 13th of November.
all the days of the calender,
when someone feeds on the fear in the other’s eyes,
it is an act of terror.
that this war,
of us against them,
of hope against despair,
as music spreads and envelops you over,
it will spread like a forest on fire,
and we must then,
not to the flames surrender,
but rise from beneath the ashes like a phoenix.
And that is why this time,
let us not make it just a gesture,
the thirteenth of November.