The pavement is a drum beneath your feet.
When you return as usual, crossing the square,
walking down the familiar street,
you need no signposts to take you home.
You feel the hum of buses, trains booming
underground, strong and close as your own
heartbeat.
Drummer, you know these thoroughfares,
you have played them. These roads
lay claim to you.
So when the blade meets skin,
the whole street stops, feels the sting.
Hack at you, and the city bleeds.
Even in broad daylight, the alleys
turn dark and glitter with long knives,
but the nightmare cannot hold you in.
You fall out of it. You fall back
into the city’s sickened heart,
and it beats harder, begins to speak
in every language, deep down
where the blood thunders
Not in my name. Not in my name.
the city’s heart becomes a drum,
dhak dhak, dhak dhak, dhak dhak.
It speaks the name you understand,
