We had all seen the day rising,
but nobody had noticed.
Even the heavy rain seemed not to be there,
though everybody was wet.
And it was cold too, but everybody was
sweating,
and smoking,
and talking.
A morning,
on the rooftop of some squat in Aldgate station.
The first buildings of Stepney Green where in sight with their sadness
and their destroyed windows.
And our madness,
and their Indian food smell.
The sky was grey.
And we were alive.
And we were alive.
