The People’s Wings Are Facebook Words
Young Arabs swarm against the gathering storm,
desperate bodies, bloodied, hurl against Dictators' tanks.
He scrapes his father's tufts of hair and bits of brain to bury,
brother, lover, friends, all dead,
lives smashed confronting censorship and guns,
a terror now so real and bred with Face book words-
the chants for freedom drown the screams of pain.
I blank the television screen, tears in my eyes,
walk into the grey and cool outside,
watch clouds tumble across the sky,
listen to the grieving sea.
I stand among a hundred dragonflies
that soar-up, between, above, side and back-
dragonflies, defiant against the wind, hover;
iridescent, transparent wings whirring, they
dart like light, the thousands of tiny lenses
of their eyes detecting all moving things.
Symbol to humans of clear vision,
its adult life a few brief weeks once
emerging from its larval skin,
with no sting, no bite to harm-
the dragon fly whirrs toward the sea
unaware of the threat to its extinction.
I visualize young Arabs flying
with the freedom of the moment.
Their metamorphosis complete.
© Tess Driver