deepundergroundpoetry.com
Budapest: A Quest through Space and Time (Part 3)
III.
The gates to the school are closed.
It creaks when it opens,
its hinges needing oil. Smoke
from students' cigarettes collect like gas
And then I start to think—
Classes done.
I leave the foreboding
iron gates as the rust
seeps blood . . .
And all one can see is bars
The rusty bars
Bars like a prison
Like the prison
Like the horrible place
They sent my great-grandfather
Simply because he was educated
And thus, a threat.
Education is dangerous here.
The gates to the school are closed.
It creaks when it opens,
its hinges needing oil. Smoke
from students' cigarettes collect like gas
And then I start to think—
Classes done.
I leave the foreboding
iron gates as the rust
seeps blood . . .
And all one can see is bars
The rusty bars
Bars like a prison
Like the prison
Like the horrible place
They sent my great-grandfather
Simply because he was educated
And thus, a threat.
Education is dangerous here.
Published 5th Jan 2016
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5th Jan 2016 7:32am
sinister image conjured by the gated school,
as if intelligence itself were criminal.
striking...
as if intelligence itself were criminal.
striking...
5th Jan 2016 10:38am
5th Jan 2016 1:09pm
Thank you so much Kexby for adding this to your reading list. I am truly humbled. I have waited awhile to post this as this is the only "collection" I have and I wanted to establish myself here before posting such a long series. Hopefully people will stick with me on this journey. I thank you for doing so.
6th Jan 2016 10:00pm
I see some parts of the world are no different than others. I remember in Nicaragua the flaking cement wall and barbed wire reaching from the top of it to the sky as though trying to lift off from a prison it was bound to. They say one never appreciates freedom until incarcerated, but that's not true. I certainly did.
