Fairies And Uniforms

Sitting or walking they breathe infancy,
Moths of rubber and stripes
Breeze through the black air
Of the sultan's un-named road.

They celebrate each other;
Who they are, who they are with,
Those children without eyes.
They outdo themselves for the sake

Of the night that bleeds joy
Into iron buckets with badges.
Falsifying life, hiding from a
Death that never knew them;

This procesiion of fairies and uniforms
Lights vigils beneath the mirrored sky.
If everything is the same, they
Change themselves, childishly.

The street is a tower of horn;
Piercing the sister's distant eye.
Who is the victor in this show?
What has been murdered?

A hundred new cities are sacked
In the voices of colour.
The night prepares its cradles for
Next year in the victorious ties.

Ah but let the children reap
What the centuries have sown!
It is the only privilege they have;
It is the only privilege they know.

The ones most tired of this feat
Are the ones celebrating it the most.
They repent in shouts and shout
To rejoice for their present already gone.

Let them enjoy it,
For they know how!
Let the loud colours reign
And the night be festooned with masks.

The rest of us will run to the beaches.