It seems the newly sprung grass conceals the torments of this land
And to my untroubled eye it’s like a blanket of warmth.
I’m the naive gypsy, in a country where
Sunset welcomes its people to wash their sweat soaked clothes
In the puddles their children played in just hours ago.
There’s the lazy hum of the mosquito that’s had its fill
On the silhouettes of sleeping figures, lulled by the whoosh of fans.
And while the bleeping of horns will continue into the night,
Bitter thoughts of war will be laid to rest,
For the ghosts of ancestors past forgave and have been forgiven.
This poem was recognised in the Imprint Booksellers competition run through the Flinders University school of Humanities in 2012