The moon hangs low tonight over the city <br />the colour of a blood orange <br />a portent of hate, <br />the same colour as the flames <br />enveloping a man on his knees, <br />reaching out to the masses <br />around him – onlookers <br />who do not see him, <br />his person, <br />his past, <br />denying him his future in this <br />city over which the orange moon rises <br /> <br />The burning man is on his knees, <br />as if in prayer: <br />“Father forgive them for they <br />know not what they are doing” <br />and the silent crowd watches <br />a crow on a rooftop watches <br />the orange moon watches <br /> <br />until the silence is broken by a <br />baby wailing in his mother’s arms <br />a baby with no past <br />no future <br />arms of hate encircling his <br />fragile body, <br />the flames reflecting in its <br />distant eyes…<br /><br />YURI DURAAN<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blood-orange-moon/
