THE OTHER SIDE

the line is clear
and you stand on the other side
with the seeds of your history
cracking the earth in the furrows
running behind you,
a heaving slave ship half alive
silhouetted against a heavy
bosomed sky.
On the other side
through the filigree hedge
your blabber strains out
raucous and harsh-
prayers to unhearing Gods
chanting and swooning in pagan worship.
as monarchs with bubble egos
 finger destinies on
the etchings of a crude map,
A blast of a scent of singed hair
and the colour of open flesh
blur the line and there is no more
the other side.