The Exile

No I never sold off, not in the silence of my sanctuary
I never turned away from my disgust of the bankrupt
Fortress of capitalism, the fruits of cruel depravity
Deep in the culture of fetish and commodity, but stop
There and see that I still love you and think dearly
Of our labours, the struggle in the name of our art
When art was unafraid of the power of money, control
Of the lives of our people, do you remember what
I said, did you not think I was bold and no one would
Dare because they fear they have nowhere else to go.

Here is the secret, the hidden key to freedom, thus
I have found upon my exile, while we are so used to
The creative powers of our code, the use of detritus
To build our computing machines, we overlooked so
Easily the energy of the earth from which all things
Come and there there is sanctuary, it is forgotten it is
Outside the grasp of most of us so much more of our
Enemies, there are no retailable assets in these nor
Prestige for the post-industrialist seeker of fortune now
Where else is nowhere, I found, my struggle is over.

Fatima Lasay, San Roque
Thursday, February 12, 2015

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