Tiny black feet…

the way they walk along lame lifelines
spun of seconds, fragments, hours

leaving calenders like clotted little tears…
they’re bashful beadlets, idly rolling

round their few uncounted years

round far too loosely fallen stillness
or an unavailing pause in something grey…
                                              

the way they walk along lame lifelines…

helpless children without water, food and shoes…

the way their story ‘s being told in tenuous blues

in blurry worldwide languages that slide off

all their shadowtinted, unaccepted races

while their stumbling tiny black feet

print no traces on the mirror of today…

we seem to simply make their difference

invisible, unbearable or just a humble mark

of something misty, inaccessible and dark…

children without turns to take

existing for the smudging sake

of illness, painful poverty and death…

they breathe an atmosphere that dims

their timid angelvoices sooner than they talk…                         

the way they walk along lame lifelines

blindly limping round time’s stillness

or an unavailing pause in something bad

born to be the innocently sad…

Najade

© Drs. Rikki Keller

Sunday, 19 August 2007