The air is filled with words that shriek and dive around our heads like startled birds.
The night is ripped and ripped by sirens with flashing lights and the roar of anger.
Fear rides the darkness, whipping the flanks of a black horse dripping the silvery foam
Of death…of blood and fire and the fetid stink of madness blown on the wind of hatred.
I can see through the back of my head…I can hear through the soles of my feet.
I can feel the shiver of trees…and the cold, cold, hearts of assassins…calmly walking,
Calmly killing, calmly driving away. This is insanity…deep and screaming…and speaking
Not a word.
And now the morning comes with silence…quiet…trembling sorrow.
A city raped…a city blasted…a city mourning.
Men in rubber suits…eyes blank and yet knowing…hoist the hoses,
Wash the blood from cobble stones…stones that have always known
The scent of blood…the colour of blood…these streets…this blood. There
Needs to come a rain…to cleanse…to bring a balm to the face of the day.
Alone before sleep…my tired mind wanders…along the narrow streets,
Up the boulevards…stops to rest in the corner of a pretty square. In my mind
I see the rushing bustle…People moving, shopping, eating, working, walking,
Talking, riding scooters, standing in the shadows, kissing, arguing, living, living,
Living in a city I have come to love.
Paris.
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