Saturday, October 21, 2006
( For Robert Fisk )
Someone has to see,
keep looking, face
those things we cannot bear to be.
Like a corpse with shattered fingers.
Someone has to shriek
those words that tear us,
the ones we cannot bear to speak.
Like the long lists of the dead.
Someone has to shake
us from this shocking stupor,
free us from the prisons that we make.
Like slaves in the market of souls.
Someone’s got to be there,
taste the roasting flesh on their own lips,
sense the crackling in the air.
Like a child in a charnel house.
Someone has to stare over that edge we
fear to walk towards.
Someone. Someone else. Not me.
After hearing Robert Fisk on 'Desert Island Discs'. 30 years on the front line, so that we could hear the truth!