My wife is in Malta. <br />Egypt has erupted <br />In a bloodless coup. <br />Quake in Christchurch <br />Hundreds dead and missing <br />An Irishman among them <br />We bow our heads amen. <br />Libyans want liberty <br />Gaddafi wants to win <br />Rebels called ‘vermin’ <br />Aims to eliminate <br />What end awaits him? <br />My wife is in Malta: <br />A haven for defectors <br />And freedom fighters <br />Flying the cage of death <br />Closing in on Tripoli <br />Our Irish fly out home. <br />Gaddafi battles on. <br />Ayesha cries for help <br />Talks to RTE from Tripoli <br />Bravely to the free world <br />Mass graves of heroes <br />All shot as traitors. <br />At home we face the music <br />Of recession getting deeper <br />Burnt out and bankrupt <br />In fear of being orphaned <br />Once fed by fat cats <br />We are feeling shrunken <br />Not like ourselves of old <br />Like frightened kittens <br />And all the cream is drank. <br />My wife is in Malta <br />But she is flying home today <br />And she’ll land in Kerry airport <br />Faraway from Tripoli <br />And I’ll be there to meet her <br />And I’ll hug her as I say <br />That she has a lovely suntan <br />Just to see her smile for me. <br />Before she went I asked her <br />If she could trap that light <br />That comes from Africa <br />Alluring glow across the sea <br />So I could have it here with me. <br />But the fabric of captivity <br />Of Gaddafi is torn to shreds <br />And the smouldering embers <br />Of a people long suppressed <br />Are flaming into freedom cries <br />Claiming their rights to Libya <br />Their homeland repossessed.<br /><br />Matt Mooney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/smouldering-embers/
