Cemented into existing <br />among grey buildings, long grey days <br />they listened keen on hearing any whispering, <br />even tried to hear the breaking of the sea, <br />the howling wind and rain sifting down <br /> <br />but everything was barred, as life in prison is <br />locked behind strong steel doors, shut in <br />where some people came as specimens <br />of a political cause gone beyond <br />civility with guns, bombs doing the talking <br />taking lives, killing <br />and time oozed on, as meaningless, <br />their lives were gone. <br /> <br />[Reference: On The Island by Dennis Brutus.]<br /><br />Gert Strydom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-island-2/
