Trapped Prayer

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(with thanks to John Shaw Neilson)

The old man sat beside me.  I

  heard not what his old ears could hear:

 a sound, he said, from a far-off land

    comes to me, faint, but clear.

Is it, I said, from East or West?

  The soul of a trapped man

who with a firm voice spoke out loud

  the deceit that was deep of his clan.

Was he, I said, born to the truth.

  that in the mad escape of a silent day

he made by his words known

  the wrongs he had to betray.

Listen, the old man said, there are

  no words, no message comes to me;

but it is almost a voice that stirs

  like the murmuring wind in a tree.

Does he, I said, speak of winter cold

  and the isolation of a damp cell

that in the full depth of night

  seek an escape from his hell?

Is he so destroyed by fowl deeds

  that he aches for your ear.

Does he now seek communion

  to off-set his fear.

Listen! The old man said.  For all

  your needless talk you do not see,

there is a sound, a knock, a tap,

  this evening addressing me.

Is it, I said, words of love

  imperishable, wrapped with disdain

that move as a frightened dove

  out of the dark and the rain?

Is it the brave beat of his heart

  too willingly pierced to make change?

Is it the last words that he uttered

  that restlessly fly into range?

Silence! the old man said.  Don’t talk,

  don’t talk any more, don’t you see

tire me no longer now,

  for his pain is crippling me.

Richard Scutter 15 June 2011

Footnote - to recognise 50 years of Amnesty