Sabatha of the Twenty Eight Stars, (2nd. Rewrite. New longer version Completed).

Dissolving blank masks in bitter tears

I meet your eyes, blue and piercing,

seeing me as I truly am.

Debussy on the radio

reminds me that your home in France

may soon become a distant memory.

And my favourite view of central Paris?

An umbered text book photograph

pressed between frayed, wine stained covers.

I have seen all things we both held dear

despoiled by pampered narcissists

disguised as caring politicians.

Religion can also seem divisive.

You meditate. I wear a cross.

Two customs often mocked - derided

by folk who only view our masks

and not the truths that live beneath them.

But hope burns deeper than politicking.

It seems hope is a child of love,

not of deceit and subterfuge.

Tyrants enforce passports and visas,

but cannot stop strangers becoming friends.

Thus it was for us when we first met

in a time of conflict and revolutions

when governments feared freedom of thought.

You smiled. I crossed the line to greet you.

Language is not a problem for us,

and customs are only shadow boxing,

so when I phoned you late last night,

your sad face flickering on the screen,

I knew that we are safe and well

and strongly bound together.

Love cannot be destroyed by loss,

or faith by separation.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

First Version: July 29th. 2016. - April 20th. 2020.

Ne Rewritten version: May 17th. - 18th. - 28th. 2022.

Umbered means seen through firelight in the context of this poem. The fires that ravaged Notre Dame de Paris; also the fires of Brexit and religious disharmony.