Our Angels

With every dawn, there comes news,

Of angels being destroyed.

The nightly battle of good against evil,

Of innocent freedom against arrogant dominance.

How night after night, beauty is slain,

By beasts drunk with pride and power.

Stories that make news, to other beasts,

That terrify with lights what darkness had traumatised,

Questions where simple comforting words will help.

Eyes on the victim, while the vile thrive in darkness,

Names in bold of the survivor, as the cowards survive boldly.

And all this under the cloud of dirt and sweat, uniformly woven.

The cloud that, through thunder that follows lighting,

Destroys through voice, whatever is left of our angels,

After beastly force has had its way.

Among the beasts and the clouds and lightning and thunder they live,

Our angels with their wings constantly clipped,

Grounded in humility and shackles of “feminine behaviour”

Stifled by the norms of moral police and regressive minds,

And yet it is, to these angels, we look to,

For knowledge, wealth and courage, denying them the same.

So the next time we walk in hordes, in antipathy to the powers that be,

Let us also kill the apathy within us.

Every time the angels of our grownup dreams are forced,

To give up their growing dreams, let us unite.

To give them the knowledge, to give them the courage,

To give them the wealth of their wings.

So they may fly, not just freely above us,

But also bravely among us.