by Ben Okri
There were two Italians, lovely and young,
Who in the inferno were on their mobile phone to friends
When the smoke of profits suffocated their voices.
There was the baby thrown from many storeys high
By a mother who knew otherwise he would die.
There were those who jumped from windows,
Those who died because they were told to stay
In their burning rooms. There was the little girl on fire
Seen leaping from the twentieth floor. Need I say more.
Those who are living are now dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower.
See the tower, and let a world-altering deed flower.
Always there’s that discrepancy
Between what happens and what we are told.
Official figures were stuck at thirty.
But truth in the world is rarer than gold.
Bodies brought out in the dark
Bodies still in the dark.
Dark the smoke, dark the head.
Those who were living are now dead.
And while the tower flamed they were tripping
Over bodies at the stairs
Because it was pitch black.
Those that survived
Slept like refugees on the floor
Of a sports centre.
And like creatures scared of the dark,
A figure from on high flits by,
Speaking to the police and firefighters,
But then avoiding the victims,
Whose hearts must be brimming with dread.
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
But if you go to Grenfell Tower, that’s if you can pull
Yourselves from your tennis games and perfect dinners,
If you go there while the black skeleton of that living tower
Still stands unreal in the air, a warning for other towers to fear,
You will breathe the air thick with grief
Women spontaneously weeping
Children wandering around stunned
Men secretly wiping a tear from the eye
And people unbelieving staring at this sinister form in the sky
You’ll see the trees, their leaves clean and green
And you’ll inhale the incense meant
To cleanse the air of its unhappiness
You’ll see banks of flowers
And white papered walls sobbing with condolences
And candles burning for the blessing of the dead
You will see the true meaning of community
Food shared, stories told and volunteers everywhere;
You’ll breathe the air of incinerators
All mixed with the essence of life’s flower.
If you want to see how the poor die, see Grenfell Tower.
Make sense of these figures if you will
For the spirit lives where truth can’t kill.
Ten million spent on the falsely clad
In a fire where hundreds lost all they had.
Five million offered in relief
Should make a nation alter its belief.
An image gives life and an image kills.
But the heart reveals itself beyond political skills.
In this age of austerity
The poor die for others’ prosperity.
Nurseries and libraries fade from the land.
A strange time is shaping on the strand.
Swords of fate hang over the deafness of power.
See the tower, and let a new world-changing thought flower.
WALK IN A MOONLIGHT WONDER
walk in a moon
light wonder; white
houses on cliffs
of a magic sea.
the sky drowning
in blue; the white
stones turn
red and yellow
and brown
in the solitary stretch
of the breathing land.
woman walking
in black across
the henna-coloured
earth. a green dog
on a black leash sent
from a wandering
mind. one of the dog’s
legs is blue in
drenching moonlight.
she is draped all
in black. splendour
of black in the brilliance
of the dreaming walk
in a moonlight wonder.
About the Author
BEN OKRI was born in Minna, Nigeria. His childhood was divided between Nigeria, where he saw first hand the consequences of war, and London. He has won many prizes over the years for his fiction, and is also an acclaimed essayist, playwright, and poet. In 2019 Astonishing the Gods was named as one of the BBC’s
‘100 Novels That Shaped Our World’.
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