Were you a boy who played in trees,
Ran down dusty lanes so as not to be late for tea?
I hide and am hungry.
I dare not run far for a mine may greet me before mother.
You live behind such high gates,
Whilst a slow death march into terror's marsh is our fate.
Did you dream as a boy,
And wake needing a father's hand on your shoulder?
I can no longer remember the features of my father's face.
Your image fills my every waking moment.
I am so small.
Your power is a fast-flowing river full of bodies.
What do you recall tonight,
As the wind blows through the dry grasses?
I wanted to be a doctor,
A ship's captain, an explorer, a pilot...
I wanted to be a teacher, a builder of houses, a writer...
Anything, anything at all, but not, never, ever, a freedom-fighter.