as grey descends and people laugh

photo source

The wilting flowers raise their heads
As the sun rises above their hell:
A churning, dead enjoyment
The metal for which they fell

Weakened they stand strong
And pray like angels straight
But they are trapped at short roots
Immobile in their fate

And no one comes to save them
They’re not important enough, you see
So they grey and die and their ghosts rise high
For death is now their liberty


Note: I wrote this on Jan 17th 2010 and decided to edit it today. It is interesting how differently one can interpret a poem based on what they think they know of the author. The poem was originally a description of the photo above, but without the photo and in context of this blog it could easily be interpreted as a metaphor for a hopeless Uyghur situation.


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