Art by Susan Seddon-Boulet
When the poets fall silent Man will not only lose his voice but also the notion of Life. ~Suzette Richards Steeped in the pain of his slain countryman, surrounded by the turmoil of real fears which lay exposed on the stone-cold tarmac, a poet dipped his ink in the spilled tears. He had a name … He had a name … A mother’s son had stood up to be counted during a time when voices were made mute, indoctrinated to a point of stupor. A poet observes and remains resolute. He had a name? He had a name. No statue would be erected in his name as he was not the first man to be slain. At the next roll call of the civil unrest, this poet’s words ease some of the naked pain. He has a name. He has a name!
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