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Posted in Poetry, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 23, 2022 by kathydasilva

DEAD ZONE of the CITY from a witness who survived

‘To be in the dead zone, a million people are there. The hurdy crowd. The long queue for the bread. The one at the end of one thousand. The foot changes from left to right to alter the pain of the wait. The sunshine casts cold shadows, long across the paved stone. The raised hand shielding the eyes from the bright sunlight. There is dark shadow but a contrast of colours. We with the feet to take us to the spectacle the viewing point, the how could that have happened.  The greys have gone underground. They like the moles dig deep pits, and residency without light. The book shelves, the books piled high. The knowledge acquired the resting of the mind. How long is this wait? The finding out about who the governance truly was. They left us to cope. We cope. The markets full of tinned food and preservation. The soles of shoes, the rubber smooth. The leather worn. The bagged goods.  The air clear. Small lanes, and narrow passes, cobbled stones. English speaking lands, Captain John Smith, sixteen hundreds, the new world, America. The natives. The new landscapes. The troubled land. Bronze statues don’t speak of death. Independence. British realms. Statues, statutes. Legal feat. Fending off  what stands for justice. The long queue. The Great Fire of London. The burned down  homes. The cleared plots. Cheapside, barbers, hairdressers and jewellers. Stone. East of the city, there is not a soul left alive from the fire.  Barking, Southampton Centre not a soul left from the bombings of the world wars.  The burned down houses and shops, the demolished landscape. Air surrounds us.  We are standing but the invisible  grave site is beneath our feet. The buried people, the bones,  beneath the soil. Vacant air. Not a sound from the dead.  They have no tongues now. They have no body, no power. The people died in their houses.  The people died without hope of rescue. The people burned to the ground. The smoke lingered. The blackened city. A million died. Smaller plots, smaller houses. Flats that reach to the sky. The great Tower Bridge.  The hydraulics, the great mechanical  arms. Tidal estuary. Beaches, salt waters meeting fresh.’

Quotation from a longer story copyrighted 2022 Katherine Da Silva

If a person does not have a conscience, what are they? Finding myself under attack as an author was an unexpected thing, in an age of modernity. I know the culprit, cannot be very bright. I was a victim of someone’s prejudice, and it looks like that is still happening. The burglar had erased two lines of this poetic piece, which included the mention of the bronze statue of Captain John Smith which is still in the square off Cheapside. I think the mention was also about Newfoundland, in the Americas, as they were new places to colonize originally. But, this is not the only point… our progressions, are not just about land, but, perhaps it is linked to wealth and power. The world will it seems only embrace the realm of financial stature…. hence the play with words.. but perhaps we are all being fooled into too much of a material expectation.