Did Herodotus
run away
when he entered the head
of Harpagus
seeking revenge
against Astyages
for making him eat his own son?

Did he drink with his eyes in disgust or in wonder?
Did he see the Scythians
glorious in battle,
drinking from the skulls of their enemies?

Or was it all hearsay
An accidental eavesdropping
on gossip
amongst the merchants
and travellers
of the
Hellenic world?

When Niccolai Mannucci
As a boy
Hid inside a ship
In Genoa,
Was he really
Running towards adventure?
Or away
from himself?

Was it brave
To fight
In Dara Suko’s
Army?

Or
Is bravery
Just something
You find yourself in?

When
Beatrix Potter
Stopped
Running
across
Lettuce fields
And boiling dead bodies
When she
Started
Writing letters
Instead
That
Grew
Into books

Was she
Running
Into herself
Or away
Escaping,
The only way
She could?

When I
Find myself
Cutting vegetables
In London
While gazing
At Kanchenjunga
Through the mist
When the brilliant green
paddy fields in April
Witness
the cows
amongst the pumpkins
When the boats
full of goats
Float
Along
the flooded banks
Of the Burhiganga,

When I
Yearn
To be consumed
By the
Ancient branches
Of the
Banyan tree

When the daftest
British humour
When
Cherpy chappies
Seem charming
In China
With
Americans

Am I
Running away?

Or not
Running
At all?

Where can
you go
To shed
Your
Rattle skin?

To
Run
Away?

To
Find
Yourself
Again?



---Jib, 11.27pm, Fri 24 Oct 2003. In my room in London