On Bajor's Newborn Wings
 Jazz Man

	
	She could still see the scars left by the Cardassians as 
she stood on her mountain perch. The piles of rubble that had once 
been homes, once housed life. The bridge over the river that had 
never been fixed because the river flowed no more. Bajor had died. 
So many of it's people had died. Some of those who were left were 
dead inside, like herself.
	She had lived through the Occupation, been born before it.
 Born of Old Bajor. New Bajor meant nothing to her. She had lost 
everthing, family and friends, her home. She could make out the 
mound that had once been her own. The Cardassians had taken it all
away.
	She'd been painting when they came, painting the river. 
They'd taken her away to a prison camp and then a mine. In the 
prison camp she was still alive, still had hope, but when they 
took her to the mine she died inside. After that day all she had 
wanted was for her body to follow her soul.
	Today she had painted again. She took the small canvas out
of her pocket. It was of the view from where she stood. On the 
left hand side, the river ran red and the houses were burning, 
some allready in ruins. On the right the river ran with clean 
water and the houses were being rebuilt. In the sky was a young
bird, flying for the first time. On new wings.
	She spread the canvas on the ground to see it better, but 
the wind took it. The canvas flew. She knew it was her time to fly.
On Bajor's newborn wings.

  	Spread your wings and fly away,
	Fly away,
	Far away.
	Spread your little wings and fly away,
	Fly away,
	Fly away,
	Far away.
   	  - Queen, "Spread you wings"

	In the river, water began to flow, mixing with the blood 
of old Bajor, the same as in the middle of the canvas the sky had 
taken.


End

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