Bringing the warriors home

Mark Knopfler’s long fingers have grown
to engulfs civilizational divide,
tenacious fingernails pick
at a puppeteer’s dangling strings
 
An outdoor chess table stumbles uprooted
abandons a sidewalk forbidden to feet
and take root in the Town Hall
where 'miniatured' politicians
are re-dressed as kings, queens, bishops and knights
and are moved to crazy-weep
because they can’t find antidotes for their blues
and they’ve run out of the water of love  
 
Organic fertilisers, meanwhile, have decided:
‘Squares shall we nourish!’
And so the chess board grew and grew
squares multiplied
fell off the table, climbed the curtains;
the blacks nudged whites out of slumber
to make room for knights in tired armour
to take unannounced naps
along deliberate ranks, files and diagonals
cramping the kings and queens
and pushing pawns to agitation
 
‘Guns in!’ roared the Uncivilised General,
but booty did not leave;
the river carried the water of love
to resurrect bombed hospitals and schools
while a neck of brine self-choked
to bequeath to a suffocating world
de-dollarized oxygen
 
And Mark Knopfler’s fingers softly strummed
bringing all warriors home
to their valleys and their hills
solder irreconcilable allergies
put out unnecessary fires
glide through all straits, dire or otherwise,
and turn themselves into dervishes
who cannot breathe again
but will nevertheless sing and dance.

 

[This poem was included in an article titled 'The noise in the channel will be silenced by song,' published in the 'Daily News']