Shooting Stars

   The conflict is far from finished,
   yet victory's scent is in the thermals
   that lift the child's kite
   above the grounded warplane.

   Vanity's valour resounds
   from clumpy high heels
   revealed by a burqa that flaps
   along a Kabul avenue.

   A blue-covered woman, transcendent,
   like an illuminated manuscript,
   gazes at a roped gang
   of tormentors turned captives.

   Men and aged boys cluster
   around technology that redeems
   their tradition, spreads forbidden joy
   from ear to heart to lips.

   These crescent moon lasers
   pierce the smog of unreason.
   The world at large "takes five"
   to witness, understand, feel hope.

(November 2001)
Bryan Murphy

If you've any comments on this poem, Bryan Murphy would be pleased to hear from you.

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