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Solitary purpose
Another soulless hotel room,
another mission.
The empty incantations of the Captain and
the tired pre-flight litany,
A perilous taxi sanctified by a plastic flower
long dead,
We ply between the complacent shores of plenty
and the torpid shores of want.
A solitary table in the company of the
Draft Report,
Tired eyes etched with cynicism,
searching for the Holy Grail
In a sun washed paradise scarred by
poverty and power.
I want nothing more than to sleep in my own bed,
for the touch of family,
and to eat home food.
But a few days and I'm on the road again,
Ordained by the notion that I can make
a difference.
Len Abrams
March 2002
in a hotel room in Nairobi |
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