that low, hollow, heavy sound

that low, hollow, heavy sound


The night horizon
blossoms
with expanding half-moons
of light, which then
collapse upon themselves,
to be repeated on
another bearing.

Pressure wave and
vibrations
follow detonations,
and resonate in my bones.
Concussions in sequence –
crump,
crump, crump,
crump,
crump.

Artillery, or bombs dropping –
heard in the distance;
that low, hollow, heavy sound
that makes you weep
for those receiving
such punishment.
And I vision
Daisy-Cutters in Nam,
and dumb-bombs
digging into
Afghan hills.

But then I break free
from my hallucination,
and remember –
Public Holiday Celebrations;
entertainment and
free fireworks shows.

This makes me grieve
for every migrant in this land
for whom those sounds and lights
of national celebration
only serve to return them
vicariously
to the wars
they left behind.

And I stand in wonderment –
why we have
fireworks and new stadiums,
modern equivalents
of ‘bread and circuses;
in place of
needed schools
and hospitals.

And the voices of
our neglected peoples
speak in a
low, hollow, heavy sound.



James Gagiikwe © 2008