A Serbian Poet
A Serbian Poet.
He was a poet; perhaps he still is,
scribbling words
on the wall of a cell in Haag.
A mass of hair, an unfinished
symphony gloomily greying
in artificial light
and will his hair ever feel the sensation of the wind
tussling his tresses?
Once upon a time people called him Doctor, he was
A psychiatrist, prescribed valium to his patients,
he should keep doing this
but politics and power got in the way,
he the president a dream that will never leave him.
A poet can’t handle the power, so let him write that
a thousand times on the wall of his cell.
Copyright © Jan Oskar Hansen | Year Posted 2015
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