Takes me back to my youth you see, twenty one years almost lost,
Nineteen seventy one in West Berlin, heading east beyond the Wall,
Aboard a cheap-seats bus, six marks for an arme volker visa it cost.
No Checkpoint Charlie on Friederichstrasse, a rusty barrier that’s all
Only one auslander on the bus, me, marched me off to a nissen hut,
Questions I tried to answer, “Ich bleibe nicht bus to the airport, Ich.. ”
Exhuberant youth still pushed on, yet no doubt would come a “But!”
“Schonefeld?” “That’s correct nach Bulgarien, mein flugticket namlich.”
Words won’t come quickly, life has lost colour more monochromatic
Ein englischer sprecher arrives, listens head cocked, full testing stare
Like the faded buildings through the window no ornament or trinket,
Fondles the ticket longingly, “cheap bus, passenger like you is so rare?”
He smirks the future tight in his fist; my inner fortitude starts to buck,
“You may leave please walk to the corner, yes the bus is still there!”
“Sorry no coffee, take care of that ticket, safe journey and good luck!”
Eighteen years on, East Germany is free open all along the border line
I watch so elated as people hammer holes in that sinister wall I crossed
Lost freedom trumpeted on the ninth of November nineteen eight nine
And harking back to that stressful story it might easily have been mine.
McTiernan
