From where I sit…

From where I sit:

I see a lineup of forces on one side of a border.

I see a fence being built on a different border.

I see planes entering and exiting demilitarise zones on all shores.

I hear bombs going off as if they were thunder.

I hear the grinding and turning of tanks.

I hear shouts of pain, and anger and victory.

On both sides. On all sides.

This is the embodiment of a truce that has failed.

This is the embodiment of a leader’s desire to expand his control.

This is the embodiment of terror.

A trench in the ground extending for miles and miles at the border is an exercise of drawing a red line in the sand.

From where I sit the red line is waving in the wind, loosening its grip,

finding holes in the resolve of the people hidden behind are loosening their grip

Loosening their hold and faltering under seizure.

The “tug” of war favours the mightiest.

The powerless must persevere,

“go on”

with their lives

as if the schedule

they live by

is somewhere else.

This is not Ukraine

This is not

The Kievan Rus’

This is not

The “little Russia”

Of the past.

This has skyscrapers lining the skies.

Its people hurrying and busily working till 5

After hours in offices, pubs, and dance halls.

This is not the “Kievan Rus’”

This is not the “Little Russia”

Of the past.

This is the World.

This is the part where lives overlap distances diminished

love lines the streets with effervescent gold potions.

The Alchemy of war is defeated by the sonorous rise of the public.

The rising up of masses against the state in Russia, in America, in China.

Everywhere

people are rising up

Black yellow white red

They are rising up to say…NO MORE

They are rising from where they sit

Ignoring their leaders pleas

Ignoring their leaders woes

Ignoring their leaders complex complicities

They are rising up.

They are picking up their battered wings.

And making them new.

They are flying above the eagle and snake

They are flying to the moon.

Away away from these leaders who would make their fate

“ fata compli”

Away away into the horizon.

Where love meets its maker

And strife is pure and golden.

But where is away?

Where is it?

And there is no one to follow.

Out there.