Steps he took to freedom Words that led to reason Night’s shadow that cast a gloom The afternoon sun that filtered through Bathing the same spot, In the centre of the room.
The hands with the healing touch The raconteur with the exotic tales The balladeer who sang of dreamers Serial losers asking for far too much; The trickster with the disappearing card The professor who foresaw the future Even before tomorrow became today first. Beaten but not yet broken These monoliths of history; They are the past.
Chalk marks scrawled on the wall Written over the same lines Again and again Turning days to weeks Weeks to months to years. Only he knew the secret of the scrawl The five-bar gate; Only he knew the formula to decipher it The code that he hid In his inner trouser pocket. The sound of the door slammed shut Behind him, tomorrow different sounds await.
Out in the open air The wrought-iron gate is unlocked for him; A Dreamliner roars overhead Welcoming him to the modern world. In the distant harbour A multi-storey ocean liner, A luxurious city suburb on the move Glides at stately pace through the waters, Beyond which lie immaculate lawns, Tree-lined avenues and elegant villas Paper boys on their rounds; A city waking up.
The idea of freedom; The joy of being alive The sheer thrill of observing new vistas As they open up, one by one.
That night under the stars, The same clusters and constellations On the exact spot of his youth By the camp fire. The distance between youthful folly And old age seems but a moment; How freedom of youth, its infinite possibilities Become a burden and a curse As an old man looks back At the hollow emptiness, The abstraction of nothingness; White chalk on damp wall.
