Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees going nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
My love and prayers are with those who have been affected by the hideous events of this June, whilst I have been blessed with the peace to look at flowers. Take nothing for granted. Love every moment, and love each other.
Clockwise from left: Police looking at tributes left after the Manchester attack; Police run to Borough Market / London Bridge attack; aftermath of Finsbury Park mosque attack; Grenfell Tower fire. All photos in public domain/permission granted for fair use.