THE DAWN OF 1984

I was the bringer of the dawn,

I came this way before.

One morn, so cold and clear,

early,

before the cock crowed thrice

and the Sun -betrayed- took refuge

behind the dark sacrifice

of Armageddon's night.

So here we are again,

here come the blackshirts:

multinational thought police,

Capital's new global Gestapo.

The bad dreams come, like skeletons,

crashing through the door.

But these times are not the same,

things are rearranged;

though Caesar's on the run again

his slaves enchain'd in fear,

these times they're not the same,

no need for ritual sacrifices to appease the dying Sun.

Find Utopia in the here-and-now,

seek the New Land

and we shall surely find her soon.

Krishna's a woman now,

changing the world, turning it upside down.

Her Land is our land here,

Jerusalem's quiet forests ours,

her lapping waters reflect a Magic Moon.

In this land we've poets by the million

looking for the way.

No need to bear a lonely cross,

no need to dally in the prisons,

lonely, lost and shivering,

waiting for the Dreadful Day.

Now the Revolution may be won or lost

around the barricades of thoughts, words and feeling,

political communication means a process of healing!

Resistance begins at the barbed-wire fences,

their crown of thorns

calling for yet another sacrifice,

the price we're asked to pay:

"Don't pay!" the message must go out,

"don't pay another sacrifice!"

Lovers of the Dawn won't pay again,

So cosmic children, everywhere,

unite:

and prepare to be reborn!

RW, 1st draft, 1.I.84, Düsseldorf, 2nd draft, 7.VIII.87, Scotland, 3rd draft, 15.XII.92, Scotland.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013