Shortlisted
Hope
West Island School, Gowoon Kim, Poetry: Group 3
The child’s fingers stroke the constellations,
Like brush upon painter’s masterpiece.
Her breath leaving evanescent touches in the air,
Her lips are violet, but her eyes glow with wonder.
The gazelle flees. Delicate steps upon the coarse earth.
Footprints light but deep enough to linger.
Dust billows behind, like dresses of dancers.
Desperate gait, locked with courage, spreads through air.
The bindweed blossoms at strike of midnight.
Petals as open as a gold trumpet amid a tune,
Lissom stem lilts softly to the susurrus breeze.
The soil is stiff, the winds sharp, but still the flower blooms.
The Bedouins pray silently as they make their way.
Every step they take, every turn they make
Could lead them to their saviour, or their grave.
But tonight, haze shrouds all. All but a slim sliver of sickle moon.
A silhouetted grey wolf howls, red eyes shining like stars.
What had happened? What could bring such a cry?
The sound echoes through the desert, haunting every corner.
But pain is no tool, so the wolf never howls more than once.
