for he is no one
we do not hear him for he is no one observable
his art is the mystery we seek for he is the power
of something extremely delicate and ignoble
a conductor and composer of delusional grandeur
made manifest in our minds and in our sleep
a ringleader of fables and white lights contrasting dark
we do not hear him for he is no one found at extreme
times and times when we are ants on his hill
his engineering of infrastructure is our darkest hour
and though the words be mad he is among you
and me and escapes into lordship and piety
we do not hear him though he sings our country’s song
and has a sublime monster on his shoulder
of which we dimly recognize for it is the source of our hope
and our loss and grave is the day we see such terror
we do not hear him though his footsteps are loud
coming and going ruthlessly through civilized moments
we do not hear him though we want our babies to live
without his finger on their temples and though he corrupts
maniacs die when they have stood up to him
we do not hear him for hers is our graceful requiem
each night that keeps the breath animate
a ballet
at the heights of his bunkered hill
twirling his mustache like Dali
Stalin beholds a child on his knee
and looking up at the dictator with snowy eyes
twinkling from some glacial mountain top
the little boy smiles
their union endears as we starve
the nanny arrives
and Stalin pretends she steals him
pretends that a ballet is performed
where the little one is abandoning him
and he holds his fist up
with all the power of gods told
and the boy leaves with the nanny
while Stalin sips vodka cold
points a pistol at a flag
and their union was a presence
as a shadow is present
Stalin then looks out of the bunker
window at the snow falling as quaint
as flecks of ash and drifts
in which treats the flies
the civilizing faces you
and you like a good servant kneel
or blow a cock
or set fire to your own house
the civilizing faces you
and you like a good mustache twirl
or dance with a martini
or hold a meeting with like minds
in which treats the alien
from the cityscape
in which treats the naked witch
who swims with devils and angels
in which treats the mad
through the gates near the noose
the civilizing faces you
and you like a good thief keep your fingers
crossed
or pawn your family
or build a highway through graveyards
in which treats the machine
who stalks your hand
in which treats the flies
who juggle fish
in which treats the lobster
who texts gospels
the civilizing faces you
and before you know it
you are the president
of an asteroid
here lay nobody
the lords prevail as brutes smile drunk
but genius is the maestro of them all
and I swear on my country’s grave
that revolution was but a stepping stone
for him
but did I see him?
A stout man no doubt
in the distance mythos but a joke
he liked to laugh
big gut laughs in the nihilism of conquest
but did I see him?
A hairy ton but shrewd enough to know when to
stop
and knocking out party after party
and peoples after peoples
under the radar of everyone but privy
like some submarine sitting at the center of the ocean
and at the center of our eyes
but did I truly see him?
Victors like these rarely come around
and rise before our eyes as champions
and do we trust him?
We are not naïve
yet here lay nobody
that no one saw
written forever on the walls of titans
Ali Saul
Ali is a Law undergraduate at the University of Portsmouth with an especial interest in Constitutional Law. He is a keen musician playing mandolin, guitar, drums and keyboards. He also enjoys writing music and poetry.
