Yet More Poetry

1989


I recall an odd discussion
I once had with a fellow Russian,
He spoke of Gulag, pain, and cold
And every time his speaking ceased
It was like fear becoming bold
Now he had been released. To tell
A story needing told.

Last night, I had a conversation
with a Capitalist, of no nation.
We smiled, and passed the time of day
He talked of how much it had rained-
Some car had splashed him on it's way,
His new suit had been stained. But he
Had nothing more to say.

The West has found a way that it can be
The master of the Threat Across The Sea.
Democracy's a mask, and we all know
New Communism, incommunicado.

My people merely grunt, and do not care.
They take for granted; what is always there
will always be there. 'Vive Le Status Quo!
New idiots will trade us blow for blow!'
Our bullied masses whimper, will not speak
For fear a lack of breath or secret leak
Will jeopardise them to the KGB.

Has no-one here a ballot slip for me?