Monday, January 24, 2011

The Streets of Tunis

Their love of their country is like fever,
For which no doctors know a certain cure.
The love of a people, once unleashed,
A force at one time perfect, fierce and pure,
Rooting out the torturer, tyrant, thief,
Once tasted, freedom leaves you wanting more.
It cannot burn out, can never be spent,
Rising for the climax, final overture.

So, to the window. Draw the curtains wide.
Fold back the shutters. Let the streets inside.
Above the crackle of distant gunfire,
Once silent voices spin ever higher.
Look up. See what catches every eye.
The scented clouds of jasmine fill the sky.

No sense in being pessimistic all the time!

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