You look on,
stony and indifferent as I write these lines.
It doesn’t surprise me. You had the same
cold look on your face 11 years ago;
the same cold look
when I, 20 and broken, entered you for the first time:
the dismal fortress who, for me alone,
your very walls seemed constructed,
brick by bitter brick.
And yet,
I’ve come to you on this day, day 4,000
of my captivity, with the end in sight-
the end which, back then, seemed
so far, so very far away, and unimaginable…
I’ve come to say goodbye, Old Friend,
to bid you farewell,
and to get some closure.
***
Farewell!
Farewell to the frozen concrete music
of your drab architecture-
the music which,
I, Poet,
breathe life into,
reanimate-
if only to paint a sad picture
and freeze again.
Farewell!
Farewell to the walls-spit, cum, piss, and shit splattered-
walls in Restricted Housing Unit:
your hate factory,
your dirty little secret.
But Daniel, it keeps The Machine moving,
it keeps the wheels turning-
this is how the world functions,
I can hear you thinking.
Can you hear me writing? Speaking? Singing?
“Yes, Poet, I can hear you well.
I can see you too.
Magically put pen to paper,
brought me back into being, you did-
and I’m alive…
for the first time in ages, I’m alive!
Tell me more, Poet,
sing to me.
But please! don’t freeze me again,
don’t leave me.
You and I, Poet:
a match made in Heaven.
Picture a world without borders!
A map without lines!
Sing to me,
I’ll show you my secrets.”