Night In the Eyes, Invading

I do not know if this is true what I see: I see in some dim, distant, desolate rock-hold gathering peoples, driven as though by common fear. A low mournful humming drifts with the breeze of manhood tread, and eyeless turban-headed in the lambent darkness, fire-fly brands moving. This symphonious humming fills my heart with deep remorse I cannot quite understand. In a winding never-ending line they keep coming: mesmerically drawn as in a living dream. They do not speak but it seems they are in common bondage bound and move to words of order. Someone is dying or some great catastrophe has befallen these earthen men - for they do not speak! So many seem to come, but only a few are here. Yet they keep coming and around a little rock are gathered cross-legged, naked scalded knees jagged out, a cluster of brown skinny men. On the rock someone is standing and a little behind him - I do not know what - a tree, a ragged pole or dolmen! and yet here it glows, now a moment paly. Fading far volcanic lights skip engulfing the sky. I cannot say what this is all about. I have a fear the Aliens are here. And in the middle of this funereal happening, a voice bursts out crying - 'EMILIANO'... 'Emiliano', and then a choking whimpering and again - 'Emiliano...... Is this all that is left for me!’ © T. Wignesan - Paris, 1957 - rev. (from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: Rayirath Publications, 1961.)