Silverperl

Dink Dink, how our hammers fall!

Beating away, up and down.

With great care, do we shape this fine silverperl.

Beating it into shape, protector of our best.

Contoured to fit our young men and women.

The treasure of our land, the hand of our great Ruler.

Dink Dink, how hard we work!

Hours and hours on the anvil.

So delicate and beautiful a thing, yet so tough.

Stronger and harder than the thickest steel.

Yet our backs grow stronger, our arms get wider.

For tirelessly do we persevere.

Dink Dink, oh what a commotion!

The striking of steel against silverperl.

Enough to stir up half the town.

But as we strike, our eyes are amazed.

As they fall upon the beautiful substance.

Found in the depths of the Boundless Blue.

Scoured and gouged out by our dauntless divers.

Brought to the surface, glistening in the sun.

Crushed and ground and mixed with steel.

Entwined with the fibres to produce a wonder.

Pride arises in us as a new piece emerges.

Handing it over to the officers who come collecting.

And happy are we to see gratitude on their faces.

But no time for toast or rest or leisure.

Dink Dink, begins a piece anew!

And again fall our heavy hammers.

Much do we sweat and tire.

But never stop, for to forge this we have the honour.

Dunwin

Oh hello, nice to meet you.

Dunwin is my name, and who are you?

Long have I travelled, this way and that.

Here and there, everywhere.

Seeking a new abode, that is my goal.

Hoy Hullo, long have I searched.

In the far north is my home.

Where live on many of my folk.

Where the grasses are few and the ground patchy.

Where the horses roam wild and free.

Water is scant, food is bare.

But ever we prevail, march and dare.

Now you seem fine and hale, good sir.

Pray tell, what need have you?

Dunwin am I.

I can cook, I can sweep, I can clean.

I can read and write better than any scribe.

No stump can yet withstand my stroke.

I can sow and harvest and feed and fish.

Many are the lands I have seen.

And many souls have I met on the long road.

I have seen the good times, I have seen the bad.

I can weave, I can knit.

I can swing, I can shoot, I can wield lance.

I have shepherded, I have bartered, I have hunted.

I have kept house, I have tended farmstead.

What need you and your fine family?

I can teach, I can train, I can guard.

And always am I learning.

The ways of all people, between North and South.

East and West.

Hoy Hullo, how the time flies, no?

I have spoken much, now you tell me.

Dunwin am I, and I am willing.

Desolate

The faceless grey and the blurry lights cut their own tale.

As my nose presses gently against the foggy glass, it all comes back again.

I am reminded of what was once before.

Its ghost rumbling, convulsing the innards.

The whirring of tools, the revving of engines, the roaring of turbofans.

The multitudes seen everywhere, the restive dust that gilds the hazy lights.

So far, and yet so near.

All a canvas, bringing to life the colours of thought.

What lay dormant, but never truly discarded.

The glorious days come racing back.

When all were happy.

When joy resonated through the streets.

When families drowned in great bliss.

When children were promised the future.

When straight lay the way of the starry heights.

Nothing left untouched.

An eternal spring.

But what I see dolefully, right there before me.

Gutted and greying hulks, wearing away.

Alone, abandoned.

Symbols of a bygone era.

An array of despair.

A manifestation of so many hopes and dreams.

Now all crushed and burnt out.

Like an unforeseen wildfire mercilessly devouring a forest.

But all was not lost.

Remnants of the great theme remained.

Reverberating down to the present.

Keeping alive the lantern’s embrace.

In the wake of destruction, a beat prevailed.

A bud of resilience, blossoming.

But the marring remains.

The worn hulks sit idly by.

Alone, unwanted.

Bringing forth the shackles of remembrance.

Traces of the disaster scar the landscape.

Will we ever truly forget?