PRison break

By Nison Mikhaylov 


I gazed eastward, beyond the penitentiary walls and saw,

a lush green jungle,

bathing gently in the sun,

a salutary reminder of where we came from.

Liberation became necessary, but the method unknown,

a failure of imagination.

Stuck here,

time being my only chattel,

I read.

From Shakespeare to Hemingway,

the Bible to Whitman to Malcolm X,

I read.

Cracks forming in the walls,

I began to see my escape;

Ginsberg, Fitzgerald, Achebe.

Cracks got bigger.

 Knowledge birthing wisdom,

birthing understanding,

cracks got bigger,

the walls collapse.

My one chance,

my escape,

into my

jungle.