360° of separation

A poem.

NS

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Every night I watch the sunset from the
rooftop of my tower block,
I see the western skies serenade many
familiar sights:
Its chorus contorts our concrete delights,
As our alien estates try to elevate beyond the high,

Yet we all passively remain,
Firmly rooted in the terrain,
Of the norm,
The predictable,
The controllable,

Such is my refusal to accept,
That has me step out onto the ledge,
Inspired to touch the fading light,
As darkness clutches where I tread,

But surely the allure of every precipice
is dictated by its abyss?
As it’s the fear of any fall that creates
the desire to uplift,

Thus the seeds are sown for Revolution . . .

***

So I survey all that my vision could retrieve,
Transcendental calls me by degrees,
There is no Dark side of the Sun,
It’s simply what I choose to see,

90° there lies the North,
Where all in the name of sport,
Parental hawks have been known to claw
their offspring,
To regurgitate their lost applause,

Our soil’s biological clock,
Is impregnated with this rot,
Atlas carries a poisoned chalice,
Engraved with antlers inter-locked,

Behind me, I greet the East,
Where paths are paved on old beliefs,
Yet artistic patterns must rise to challenge
The secret code that holds mystique,

If our shepherds’ blur is now complete,
Can we trust the words they idly speak?
For the importance of being beige,
Is how the wolves now herd the sheep,

***

From upon my roof I view the South,
With nothing as yet figured out.
I see frowns in fear of smiles,
World Hunger placed on “nil-by-mouth”,

Or should I say: “Confronted by the unspeakable?”
The unsaid & unrepeatable,
The vultures gather just off the shoreline,
By the banks of the river irretrievable,

***

I finally turn my head back to the West,
And yea, the sun has all but set,
They say the head that wears the crown,
Is the head that lies the heaviest,

And thus here I am . . . still stressed:
Still standing at the same spot,
On the ledge of the same block,
Separated by 360°, yet still facing the same drop,

Today it stops,
I step down to finally close a chapter on this page,
Revolution begins when you take a good look
around & decide to make a change.

@mrgeepoet

This article appears in the 23 October 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Russell Brand Guest Edit