Transition
Before this night is over, the rotors will wake us up, causing the weak to tremble and the strong to wonder. We are together in this, them and us. They are innocent and guilty, in the same city, under the same sun and sound of laminated wing and hydraulics, of 7.62 millimetre judgment, the victims of the verdict of night vision and heads-up displays. They will stay, stand or fall, like all the nights before.
Before this night is over, birds will fly over all of us, silent and spiralling through the darkness of the doubt of our existence, whirling overhead through the airs of our conceit and arrogance, gliding down to the reality of a dawn that will break over this place without our help.
Before this night is over, men will speak into transmitters and give direction to those under their command, breathing logic into the space between us and them, giving shape to policy and form to the informal unseen hand of change. Changing tomorrow with words, shaping some lives and taking others, forming opinions and solidifying options.
Before this night is over, trajectories and careers will arc and apogee and at some point in the distance of space and time deliver reality with an impact usually only seen in theatres. Theatrics will ensue with a hardness of steel and a flash of fire and finality ending in a close and far-off rumble, different only from your point of view.
Before this night is over, trust and confidence will give way to the uncertainty of doubt and a lost innocence of lives changed and time served and letters written, vows given, futures altered and paradigms shifted. Words will be spoken, prayers mouthed silently, languages and utterances vocalized with an earnest desire to only last until after.
After we have left this place elections will be held, schools will fill with hope and the hopeful will look to the West for a direction not given, motives not known, guidance feebly offered. The uncertainty will remain, like water in the pump primed for action, waiting only for the switch of democracy to move from ‘off’ to ‘on’.
After the sound of the rotors dissipates and the booming guns are silent those who remain will speak, or remain silent, or take action in the same way as always. The focus will be shifted, the main effort re-aligned, the centre of gravity pulled away by the moon of public opinion towards the next big thing.
After, when they have survived this changing change, a few of us will look over our shoulder and say that before we came here we should have thought about after.
After the analysis, discourse, audits and elections they will remain. We who shared this time with them, we few, will think silently about the before and say a prayer for those who remain, after.
©Tom Kinton, Baghdad, Iraq 2004
Before this night is over, birds will fly over all of us, silent and spiralling through the darkness of the doubt of our existence, whirling overhead through the airs of our conceit and arrogance, gliding down to the reality of a dawn that will break over this place without our help.
Before this night is over, men will speak into transmitters and give direction to those under their command, breathing logic into the space between us and them, giving shape to policy and form to the informal unseen hand of change. Changing tomorrow with words, shaping some lives and taking others, forming opinions and solidifying options.
Before this night is over, trajectories and careers will arc and apogee and at some point in the distance of space and time deliver reality with an impact usually only seen in theatres. Theatrics will ensue with a hardness of steel and a flash of fire and finality ending in a close and far-off rumble, different only from your point of view.
Before this night is over, trust and confidence will give way to the uncertainty of doubt and a lost innocence of lives changed and time served and letters written, vows given, futures altered and paradigms shifted. Words will be spoken, prayers mouthed silently, languages and utterances vocalized with an earnest desire to only last until after.
After we have left this place elections will be held, schools will fill with hope and the hopeful will look to the West for a direction not given, motives not known, guidance feebly offered. The uncertainty will remain, like water in the pump primed for action, waiting only for the switch of democracy to move from ‘off’ to ‘on’.
After the sound of the rotors dissipates and the booming guns are silent those who remain will speak, or remain silent, or take action in the same way as always. The focus will be shifted, the main effort re-aligned, the centre of gravity pulled away by the moon of public opinion towards the next big thing.
After, when they have survived this changing change, a few of us will look over our shoulder and say that before we came here we should have thought about after.
After the analysis, discourse, audits and elections they will remain. We who shared this time with them, we few, will think silently about the before and say a prayer for those who remain, after.
©Tom Kinton, Baghdad, Iraq 2004
posted by tomk at 10:47 AM
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