• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 09
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When I think of Brussels I long for
Sticky-sweet aroma of waffles on street corners,
Hot chocolate in streamy cafés,
Carillon in La Grande Place belfry,
The criss-cross of languages,
Magritte's words 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe'
Under his painting of a pipe.
Now in Brussels I smell fear.
Level Three Alert in the city,
Rifle-bearing soldiers at shop doors,
Suspicion loaded on all dark young men.
This is today's surrealism - I want to say
'Ceci n'est pas une guerre!'
But it is.