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This is the Year

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This is the year
when peace will finally come to Darfur
and the disembodied hands
of refugees
will reach out
and clasp
the hands
of their saviors
Pulled,
into
a sea
of blue berets

This is the year
when the ancient war
in the holy land
once fought
with swords
and shields
now fought
with the latest
weaponry,
will end
and the next
mortar fired
will leave behind
a trail of peace

This is the year
when the sound
of the trickling water
from melting ice caps
will finally fall
on to the ears
of those who chose
to ignore it,
and the smoke stacks
take all the black,
acrid smoke
back

This is the year
when the hands
of the homeless,
bound to can-filled
shopping carts,
will be released
and open to hold
keys to a home,
and soon,
work
When they are employed
they will ride the subway
not begging
not pleading
not telling over rehearsed
life stories
they will ride
with their pride as
intact as an army victorious

This is the year
when the child
starved of food
like a stray dog is finally
given the nourishment
he deserves
and when
the skeleton of a child
returns from his
scrounging
he will discard
his rotten,
half eaten banana
and for the first time
he will not eat
in the presence
of an overfilled trash can
or a slimy dumpster
in an alley
behind a Chinese takeout
having found
his lifetime supply of food

This is the year
for happiness
and from
the teeth of the smiling,
oppressed
and persecuted
people will reflect
beams of gleaming light
This is the year
when a smile
spreads
across the face
of the Earth





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