Читать книгу Gold from the Stone - Lemn Sissay - Страница 18

Listening

Listening, and we’re listening

To the ones who scream,

Hidden by the pounding sounds of the traffic.

We’re listening

To the Blackness in the dream,

Hidden by the screams of this nightmare.

And it’s getting louder.

People, we’re getting louder.

People, we’re turning round,

Crumbling the buildings to the very ground.

And we’re feeling

The unsteady feel,

The breaking of the seal of unconsciousness.

Listening.

And we’re breaking the dawn,

For this morning there’s a different sound.

Keeping our ears to the well-trodden ground,

We’re angry with the pain we hear.

There’s an insecure feel in the air.

Because we’re listening,

Like wolves in the dark,

Eagles in the sky.

Driven like cattle,

Ears to the ground.

We can hear the water.

We need water.

We need to quench our thirst.

But we’re listening first.

Cautious as cats,

Punished as dogs,

We can hear the water.

The priest chants.

The congregation turn their heads.

The politician rants.

The people turn their heads.

Muffled screams and whispers,

Pointing fingers,

While the silence crawls from the inner city towns

And holds them in the fist of suspense,

And holds them

waiting

waiting

waiting

For the gutters to run with blood

And the sweet taste of victory in the mouths of the downtrodden.

And if you don’t keep listening

You’ll be caught unawares.

We’re listening.

We’re listening.

We’re listening.