Derek Walcott

A City's Death By Fire

   After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky, 

I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire; 
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I 
Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire. 
All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales, 
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar; 
Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales 
Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire. 
By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why 
Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails? 
In town, leaves were paper, but the hills were a flock of faiths; 
To a boy who walked all day, each leaf was a green breath 
Rebuilding a love I thought was dead as nails, 
Blessing the death and the baptism by fire.

by Derek Walcott