March 22, 2016, Prescott-
Bruxelles, mon amour,
I hear your screams
As the hosts of tyranny
Hose your streets with blood.
You welcomed me warmly,
Giving a festival of peace,
French, Flemish, Algerian,
Standing side by side,
As the games of comradeship and hope,
Played out, in front of my eyes.
Paris, mon amour,
I recall your sons and daughters,
Taking time out of their frenetic days,
To help an oft bewildered Americain
Find my way across your arrondissements,
With nary a hint of hauteur, in their demeanours.
Rouen, ma cherie,
I think of all you endured,
As the scene of travesty,
When the Light of All France
Just a stone’s throw from where
My paternal ancestors were first blessed.
Damascus, my friend,
I have not had the honour of your presence.
Yet, I hear and feel your anguish,
And, yes, I know these horrors are
Not what you wish,
For yourself, nor for the cities
Which weep alongside you.
All my friends and beloved ones,
Know the horrors and cruelty,
Will pass, must pass.
Soon comes the day,
Which will not be followed