They may come by night,
They may come by day,
In a quiet spot, or in a crowded street.
When your time has come,
They will appear.
No-one will even notice you are gone,
It will all be over in an instant,
No witnesses,
No questions asked,
As if it had never happened at all.
No-one will think or feel anything,
It will all be quite normal,
Simply routine.
And your fate will be decided
Like a parking ticket,
Torn off
And added to the pile.
And then there will be nothing
But the eye at the peephole,
The black hood
And the torturer’s clubs:
“Liberty”, “Democracy”,
“Constitution”, and “Human Rights”.
Ready yourself for unfamiliar sensations:
The broken bottle shoved up the arse,
The heated brand,
The ingenious variations of beating,
The lighted cigarette applied to the skin,
The ice room,
The tiny dark box,
The dogs attacking,
The drugs, and no sleep,
The electric shocks,
The crucifixion,
The revolver in the mouth,
The screams of other prisoners,
The fastening and unfastening of door bolts,
The walls,
The noise, the intolerable noise,
The rapes,
The firing squad with rifles levelled,
The squatting for hours in impossible positions,
The drowning in shit,
The burning with acid,
The pliers brusquely extracting your teeth,
The lies, the lies, the incessant all-pervading lies.
No comments:
Post a Comment