Waiting For Hell
Week one, I prayed he was okay,
Just stranded,
Stuck wherever his small plane
Had landed.
Week two, I wished him hurt,
Unfit to walk,
'Cos we did nothing here
But talk.
Week three,
I prayed he’d move on his own,
Whilst we sit in Tehran,
Praying by the phone.
Week four,
I pray for Gilly and her mother.
Week five,
Why couldn’t this happen to another?
Week six,
No doubt, I’ll pray,
But pray for what?
They prayed each day,
Their precious God forgot.
One week a prayer will come,
Unlike the rest,
One that will their spirit
Further test,
One week when this is past,
And they have waited,
They’ll scream rivers
For the prayer they have created,
One week in these desperate sands of time,
I know,
Once the hour has ceased to be their only foe,
One week soon in time,
I know they’ll pray
That they find him lifeless where he lay,
So there can be an end to this decay,
Not knowing is more painful
Than accepting come what may,
That he lived his life to the full,
Worked hard, and lived for them,
A loving husband, father, brother,
From whom such love did stem,
A prince among dishonest men,
A king without a crown,
So we can look up at the sky,
And see him shining down.
(2012)
This poem was written after weeks of waiting for my wife's father to show up safe, after crashing his small aeroplane in the mountainous jungle of the north of Iran. There was nothing more that we could do but wait.
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