By Pavel Chichikov
The dome of dark held back the light
That spread round us in our solar flight,
A wall sealed up against all clarity
And mental vision, Jesus' charity
Then we pushed through and found ourselves on Earth
But night before, behind us and above, no more
A peaceful city landscape, and the fields
That I who rode the gelding saw before
Were gone – instead a ruin all around
But not so much a ruin as unease,
And shabbiness of peace, walls unsound,
Tall battered dwellings scaled by some disease
They seemed unlit, uncared for and the folk
Were sallow, loose of skin and slow to move,
Looked sideways, downward as they passed
Along brick-littered streets – they had no love
The sun itself, on which I rode, went dim
As if light here were sluggish, frail and slow –
The city seemed a conquered one, not calm
But on its way to hopelessness for all I knew
But not yet there – we slowed and stopped
‘I will leave you here' said Brother Sun
‘No don't, I said in panic, ‘I'll be trapped
In this deep place, this rubble of a slum'
‘Dismount,' said he, ‘ I will not take you on'
And so the light dissolved beneath me, left
Me standing on a city street with broken
Curbs and heaped up boards of slate
And there was I, the greyish city moped
Around me, faces sour and deprived
Of all anticipation of a change
Walked noiselessly along, barely alive
They would not look into another's eye
And felt their way along the street to find
Where they were going – were they blind?
No, it was suspicion and hostility
The Shoulder of the Sun Part Five will be featured Monday.
To visit Pavel Chichikov's website click *here*
(photo: Pavel Chichikov)
