Glasnevin

Children of revolution.

Heroes and writers.

Just a few centimetres

from legends.

James Joyce's parents

and broken trumpets

in arms of angels.

Vigilance watches over me.

The torch upside down

on famous' graves.

Shows bad luck

to prevent.

I stepped on paths

that felt like my own.

Rebellion. Writing. Creating.

My last connection.

An afternoon that turned 

from rain into sun.

Deepest moment of 

Ireland's history.

I feel connected,

deeply confused,

with a strange feeling,

I go. And know 

it's not a farewell.

copyright by Magical Whispers/I. Normann 09/11/2020

(this is part of my book "Travels and Moves" - link in contact/publications)