Living amidst the ruins

 

For Scotland I sing,

the Knox-ruined nation

that poet and saint

must rebuild with their passion

George Mackay Brown "Prologue"

I am not a saint

although there is the odd day

when I dare to call myself a poet

I am, nonetheless, all too familiar

with those broken down ramparts

that hold fast

to delusions of grandeur

and that survive all attempts

at structural dismantling

There is something in the soil

and in the water

some basic instinct 

that hoards the myths 

and jewels of religiosity

as toys for menfolk

that employs

the pointy elbows of unwitting accomplices

to repel invaders

who dare to enter the arena

and pollute

with their softness and compassion

and even steely persistence

the savage wars of status and entitlement

An unspoken claim

on the soul of a nation

that corrupts and defiles

and is perpetuated

like so many rites of passage.

And yet

Even as I dream of dismantling 

and rebuilding, 

I wonder

Is it even possible to imagine

an alternative nation

that cries FREEDOM!

not only for some

but for all?

Can the unicorn be released 

from the rubble of patriarchy

to stand proud

as a symbol

for all that is unique

and unfettered 

and otherworldly

and free?