Forgotten Ground Regained

AREA C

C is cracked. Curt, clipped consonant,cutting to the quick.But the beginning of culture,and care and clan,community and comradeship.All curtailed here.In Area C, ceasefire is a serpent’s hisscynical caesura no chance of peace.IN Area C our lives are describedin caw of a crow, in clatter of stonesthe crackle of static, disquiet of drones.In Area C – where citizens squat,constrained by cruel and callous practice,curbing freedom of movement and access.In Area C where children are shotcompassion’s turned harsh,a constant dull acheice cold as a cave,dark as the deepest lake.
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