Bobby Sands is a Hero In This House.

Some thoughts, in a Ginsberg delusion on the martyrdom of Bobby Sands.

He of concrete grey against pale skin

And the long corridor of time stretching 

beyond hunger's reach

—a man

he, dissolving into myth before their eyes

while Margaret’s England turned away

from the slow death of moral conscience

Where the raw edge of resistance burns

through scratch blankets & prison walls

as history's fingers trace the outline

of a wasted body becoming symbol

becoming storm, becoming…

the voice they cannot silence

and Bobby Sands is a hero in this house

Here - where the forgotten raise their fists

Bobby Sands is a hero in this house

Here - where resistance still exists

And Somewhere between the smash

of batons & the rhythm beat of rain

against boarded long kesh windows

a revolution breathes— on paper smuggled

between sweating palms, words

that outrun the empire's rabid dogs

and I, gypsy, know this road

this an ancient displacement, 

how they name you criminal for daring to exist

and how they turn your culture to dust

with parliamentary ink, handshake & the cold

machinery of state violence

and Bobby Sands is a hero in this house

Here - where the forgotten raise their fists

Bobby Sands is a hero in this house

Here - where resistance still exists

As mad angels dance on cold prison floors

Swaying in the holy geometry of defiance

scrawled across time is Bobby's ghost

walking Belfast streets where memory

bleeds into the present tense, we tense,

where we still hunger for justice

and Bobby Sands is a hero in this house

Here - where the forgotten raise their fists

Bobby Sands is a hero in this house

Here - where resistance still exists.