Dear Boon
Saturday, 4 October 2008
Saturday 4th October 2008
I am stranded,
things once so familiar have shifted, become alien.
I do not recognise this territory.
Packing in such a hurry, I find the things that I collected, useless for the reality that we face.
How can you plan for such a journey that sweeps and devours.
My suitcase has gone astray, upon its own trajectory.
I am at a loss for direction, trampled by the informed,people who know where they are going.
I am jostled in one direction and then another.
I stand still and try to gain clarity, but there is no stillness to be had.
By night, in restless sleep, I am hunted, constantly seeked out by a preditor, who hears us breathing, who will torture and maim, I have seen it done, and relive the events even in daylight.
In the morning hag-ridden, I stumble into the dawn light, retracing my steps.
Exhausted I have stopped fighting, I drift with the current in order to rest. Downstream if I have not drowned, I will drag my body onto the bank of this river and wait for light.
Brooks
