the tears are like sky trains in the past,
running on golden colours, ancient tiers.
she weeps out the night and at last
it drowns the thieves and last profiteers.
She says that her continent is lightening,
a name come and gone, burned in honoured seers.
the reporter asks what guns to bring
she says that nothing will do and fires on her feet
the princes in the corner hint that they will sing
At the night when they leave it’s discreet
and the moon doesn’t register the magnitude of blast
the decades of future, sunshine will repeat.