Thursday, April 4, 2013

Face Off, a poem,

Face Off

I am tired, my friends too.
Shall we stop the clock,
the writing fool his dance,
move to the Moon

and beyond, sing for supper
in some indigenous tongue
that will disappear
from the planet’s face?

Must be the only rule
for this rueful sojourn:
we will not know
if our children choose

to tread on our bones,
or erect them into columns
and arches. For the rest,
spared of progeny, there is

no guilt or obligation. Just
finish tasks in the planner,
and go off radar, absent
from view on Facebook.

            Indran Amirthanayagam, April 4, 2013  c) 3013 Indran Amirthanayagam