ESCAPE
Escape! I hear a voice saying: escape And leave this English isle behind You belong to nothing except this ornate radio Except the coffee pot Except the garden trees outlined against the silky sky I hear voices speaking in languages I know And others I don’t: Escape And leave behind the dilapidated red buses The rusty train tracks This nation obsessed with morning work This family which hangs a picture of capitalism in the living room as if it were its ancestor Escape from this isle There are only windows behind you Windows as far as you can see Windows in daylight Windows at night Dull aspects for brightly-lit pain Brightly-lit aspects for dull pain And you hear the voices: escape In all the city’s languages, residents are fleeing from their childhood dreams From the scars of colonies that turned to cold signatures as their authors died Those escaping have forgotten what they escaped from, too cowardly now to cross the street They gather all their cowardice and scream...