18 JANUARY 1957, Page 27

Passengers

Their blank and everyday disguise Hides nothing that I do not know, And though I cannot see their eyes, Blank pools of nothing lie below.

Lost in a private darkness, these Slide through their emptiness to sleep. There is no cure for this disease For surgeons dare not cut so deep.

Made desperate by a hollow stare I watch behind a sullen face.

My open eyes hide my despair And gaze as blankly into space.

JULIAN M ITCH ELL