There

There are discarded shoes in a street in Mogadishu

There, where the sun sets, where the rain falls.

There are no flags posted on profiles,

Here, where the sun sets, where the rain falls.

There is chaos and twisted wreckage,

There, where the sky is blue, where children play.

There are no stuffed toys piled up as monuments

Here, where the sky is blue, where children play.

There are broken bodies in the streets

There, where people dream and lovers hope.

There are no Prime Minister’s press conferences

Here, where people dream and lovers hope.

There are children dead on a bus

There, where the sun sets, where the rain falls.

There are cooking competitions on television,

Here, where the sun sets, where the rain falls.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Grant Fenton – All Rights Reserved

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