The light falls in slanted rectangles
Boxed in black, upon the church floor:
Cool terracotta tiles overlapped
By rattan mats arranged lengthwise.
It beckons me and so I follow
Into speckled diamond fields.
Not so long ago the church was razed
And the people, slaughtered. Now,
In the buzzing lime silence
They whisper of days that flow
Blessedly into one another
Like a sunlit stream. Sometimes
They scream, a sound echoing
Through the darkness of ages
To shatter the crystalline day.
I cannot see nor hear them,
These people not of my blood.
Yet they abide within the shadows
That bank molten gold-green pools,
Rendering brighter the sunlight
That sets ablaze blood-red dragonflies,
Delicate spiderweb maps that lead
To the centre of the heart. They sing
In the silence between lyrics of hymns
Drifting from the restored pristine church.