Sorry For Your Troubles. Pádraig Ó Tuama  

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СКАЧАТЬ the hour.

      The clock of hunger-strikers dead is not ignored

      with ease

      and ‘please, God, please keep loved ones safe’

      was then

      repeated round and round and round

      like rosaries told upon a bead,

      or shoes upon the ground of orange walking.

      The five demands, the five-year plan

      that saw a blanket round a man,

      the dirty protest, Thatcher stance,

      that gave a new and startling glance

      at just how deep a people’s fury goes.

      And God knows each single mother’s son

      was sick of hunger,

      all those younger faces became stripped and old

      eyes shrunk back and foreheads cold & bold

      with skin that’s limp and paper thin,

      barely separating blood and bone from stone.

      And some did say ‘enough is now enough’

      and others said that ‘never, never, never will a

      martyr die,

      he’ll smile upon us long from mural’s wall’.

      And others said ‘what nation’s this?

      we’re abandoned on our own −

      all this for clothes to warm some dying bones’

      And some said ‘that’s a traitor’s talk’

      and others bowed their heads and thought that they

      would hate to go that way.

      Then Bobby Sands was dead

      and there was banging on the bin lids on the Falls

      echoed through to Shankill gospel halls.

      And there was trouble on the street that night

      and black flags started hanging while

      people started ganging up,

      black flags marking out the borders of belonging

      the thin black barricade

      that’s been around for thirty years

      and stayed a fragile point up till today and cries

      of how ten mothers’ sons all starved and died

      when all they ate was hope and pride.

      S a c r a m e n t a l

      If there is a heaven, and I’m not sure there’s not,

      at its harbour will be waters that we’ve travelled,

      sometimes seeing

      mostly not.

      And at its hearth will be people saying

      welcome, welcome, welcome

      to where you’ve always been a

      part of.

      Who knows where we started,

      or how this journey ends.

      All we know is that we hope in destinations

      tended by the practice of these virtues −

      Love, and those sacramental eyes.

      Embrace with arms wise to their limitation.

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