Ghosts of Magii still follow an ancient star,
Silently, across shifting sands,
Searching for a manger
Long bare, and empty.
It seems that God's chosen people
In their promised land,
Promise their neighbours
Nothing but death and destruction.
Ancient Arabs sit,
Hate escaping
Through rotting teeth,
Dreaming of their Jerusalem.
A continent away
Hiv and Ebola
Take their revenge
On a land steeped in civil war.
In China,
Repression is served
As the dish of the day,
Every day.
In the civilised west,
Racial tensions bubble,
Just below the surface,
Inequality the gift.
So, as we tear the gaudy wrappings
From unnecessary gifts,
And drink deeply, as a precursor
To fighting with family, and friends.
Let us spare a thought
For the endless, useless
Journey of those Magii,
And ask ourselves..........
Is this such a Merry Christmas???
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
