Month: November 2020

Into the third week of rain
and there are heavy grey
curtains hanging across
my sightless window panes

Into the third week of rain
and the grass is drowning
in a watery field,
flowers are bowed in pain.

Here peace was razed low
by fear and greed and the
promises were broken before
the time of harvest could be
reaped, before the bread of
welcome could be broken
on the hard soil of Parihaka.

Our hearts were hidden
under a korowai of cloud,
the homeless song drifted
three inches above the land
like the charcoal and smoke
wafting from the fires and
musket shot of desolation;