Thursday, 24 December 2020

Ibrox 1971


Ibrox 1971

A frigid mist hangs over the dark city

Covering it like a funeral shroud,

A point of light breaks the gloom

Near the dark ribbon of the Clyde,

A shoddy colosseum, where gladiators

In blue and green grimly struggle

The baying crowd seethes and sways,

Everything staked on a winning hand,

Two mighty roars punctuate the gloom,

No victor’s laurel for either today

They must wait till the next time

To settle their never ending grudge

Torrents of humanity pour from the scene

A mindless river pushing ever onwards

Unseen, unheard, someone has stumbled

A child clings to a rusting fence for dear life

As the raging river rushes, crushes past him,

Unaware of conspiring fate’s pernicious whim,

White handkerchiefs and anguished cries

Lost shoes speak mutely on the stairway

Telling of the fragility of life and hope

A granite policeman, used to calming brawlers

Carries a covered bundle from the scene,

Ashen faced, he mutters over and over,

He’s only a little boy, only a child’

Desperate hands work on those

Caught between life and death

Then a silence which shrieks to the heavens

No Billys or Tims today… just human beings

Suffering their own Via Dolorosa

Rivalry and hatred seem tawdry and small

In the face of such immutable suffering


The great cranes standing sentinel on the Clyde

Turn away sadly from the scene

And drip silent tears into the dark water below


















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