rain lashes my window,
wind rattles the roof tiles
above me,
I shiver, turn up the
central heating
then put the kettle on...
+
across the world
people huddle around a fire,
there is no central heating in Syria
no shelter in Palestine,
children play in flipflops
while others scavange for wood
to keep the fires going...
+
and we call our world civilised...
+
I cup my hands around the
mug, watching the steam rise
as incense weaving my prayers
through its wisps and turns...
+
and we call our world civilised
+
I have friends who will
sleep on the streets tonight,
and I call myself civilised...
+
are my prayers,
my actions
simply vapour
impotent,
empty?
