In softened pinks, the early morning
Mist belies the worn-out
Sad corrosion of the City or
In tones of grey, a gracious
Veil conceals the beauty of her face
As she approaches Eucharist.
So now do I, in pastel tones, ask
What can lie behind this gentle
People's mask of unintended
Silence –
A silence born of fear and
Years of anxious dread,
Of other eyes and ears that
Notice everything
And by their hidden threats
Anaesthetise
The birth of hope?
On a visit to Myanmar
December 2010
