Afternoon In Imber
The path peters into nothing
Disappears into tangled undergrowth
Overgrown and testament to long neglect
Towards the shattered shells of houses
Their windows standing empty
Gouged eye-sockets stare unblinking
Towards the tiny church
Its dark, crumbling stones
Preserve still the fabric of a building
Its dark tower sheltering bells un-rung
No longer consecrated
Its congregation long departed
The sparseness of the village street
Deserted and unkempt
Eerily quiet in mid-afternoon
Once peopled long ago
Before the khaki-clad Army came
Ushering them quickly away
A forced evacuation
To leave a realistic playground
Where they could practice combat
Throw some ordnance around
Unopposed and unobserved
Deep within this hidden fold
Did we see the faces of the missing
Peering round the corner
Where the bakery used to stand?
And are there ghosts among the grass
Picking their way between the holes
Dug out by the detonations?
And are there any spirits here
Walking between the wire and the fences?
And are there any still alive
Of those displaced
Who remember Imber as it was
And might return one day
To dwell here once again?
No comments:
Post a Comment