It has been five years since that shocking, terrible day in London - which began around now, as commuters headed to work - now called 7/7 - when bombers took many lives, and ground London to a halt. The day before London had been awarded the 2012 Olympic Games. I remember thinking - London will never recover. But I was new to London, and didn't yet realise that its fabled "Blitz spirit" was genuinely present. Or rather, people just got on with it - walking home, walking to work. But people died. The tube and buses became, symbolically, more deadly (for awhile); and an innocent man was soon afterwards shot dead in public. There has been no successful terrorist attack in England since then. Were lessons learned? Is the war in Afghanistan working? Londoners don't fear for their safety these days. Five years is a long time. Yet, families, friends, loved ones, remain permanently changed by July 7, 2005. We must spare them a thought, now and in future.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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