Wembley High Technology College, London, 2019
My closest enemy, My dearest friend, We meet again. The day of Mars*. No compass, brain fog, raindrop, brains gone So long, farewell, stairwell But I’ve already given up I’m lost. I picture the words, but it’s futile With no direction, the pain’s infectious and I’m stuck Like a classic car I rust, It’s unjust. But then I hear the clock tick It’s exhilarating, it’s electric I’m receptive At the cusp, it becomes clear, I can see, but more importantly I can hear, I hear the words; I feel the vibrations, the temptation of letting everything flow out It’s checked by patience. I wait, until the rhythmic ticks turn hollow and sour I wait, until the clock strikes I wait, remembering that a good story is like a flower * ‘The day of Mars’ – Latin. Origin of the English word Tuesday.
