What beauty in camps?
I sit in my favourite chair
listening to Beethoven’s last sonata,
slient breezes
in time.
to the music.
My world creates a sonata
The other shatters all possibility of one.
Guarded, malnourished;
the beauty of rescue: possible?
loudspeakers are silent.
Waiting for a pass, a nod,
family member to utter their name,
to go back home
to farm, toil, feed the earth
feel the breeze of their own
sonatas.
Beethoven calms me.
My children, near.
one dressed. Pretty.
Ready for her first ‘mixed’ party.
The smaller cuddles her father,
night air brings comfort.
Smells of food. Dinnertime.
Civilized.
Red wine.
Nourishment.
No death here.
just beauty
and dignity.
Part of the Writers Under Siege collection on Groundviews. For more information, click here.
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