By Pavel Chichikov
‘Move' he said, ‘they've come and gone
But they'll be back to get us yet'
We turned to leave but as we did
I smelled a burning cigarette
Or was it something else I smelled
Now distinctly heavy – fire?
A burning acrid chemical –
Insulation, rubber, wire
‘They've been next door – too close – let's go'
Out we rushed – the corridor
Filled with foul haze and he
Drew me by the wrist – next door
Another scene of terror, weird
Runnels in the floor – we feared
To enter too far in, also
The smoke was getting thicker – low
So far but rising toward
The level of our faces, eyes
‘We're out of here, the stairs,' he said
‘But if they're blocked we die'
We ran, the corridor stretched out
Longer than I could recall,
Confused – was this the narrow hall
I entered not too long ago?
Smoke was rising, panic too,
We started running, should have come
To where the stairs descended
To the outside – and the sun
I prayed ‘Jesus get us out of here'
The word rose to my lips,
Out of smoke and darkness there appeared
A hollow in the smoke, and then, the steps
Rushing now, a crazy dance
Gasping, spinning on our feet
Till we reached the entrance
Saw before us now a different street
The Shoulder of the Sun Part Eight will be featured tomorrow.
To visit Pavel Chichikov's website click *here*
