my town
where wild flowers grow
between tram tracks.
there was a time when
it was hardly morning,
no bridge into daylight.
walls had ears,
neighbors had eyes
whispering behind the curtains
there was an emptiness in the guts
of the city
and poetry locked in the drawers,
Borges was read under the blankets
while Dostoievski was a comforter:
demons were embedded.
yeah, people were clapping and smiling
watching the nub of history, numb
they had a life to live,
what can you say?
one day the radio
burst on in the streets
some were shivering in the attic
"we are free", they said
"we are free",
came the echo in trance
"shhhhh"! said others,
let us wipe the blood
don't disturb the sacrificed
so we can sleep
without dreams
it's Thursday in my town
streets are weary
and our souls are
slowly expanding
Thank you, Eliot, for this choice! I am glad that this poem was chosen for the Daily Poem because for me it is a reminder that people died for freedom and struggled against oppression in times when "Cruelty knits a snare,/And spreads his baits with care", as the poet says. (William Blake, The Human Abstract)