Voices on the Wind Voices in Tribute
Dear Mandelstam by David Chorlton I canít shake this image of you walking lost in your own time while your country becomes a machine. A knock on the door at midnight means youíve been found out. Itís all railway trains and fog from here on, clickety-clack and a finger writing on the window frost. The lines got away from you but itís too late to call them back. Little good would come from an apology at this offended hour with winter setting in and you still placing value on the truth. There you go, unsteady on your feet, mouthing words into the snow that falls around you the way lies are falling on us. Itís difficult now to tell exile from home.