Sometimes an obstruction, sometimes a dispersion
The world perhaps awaits its own destruction.
Nor Manu’s fish, nor Noah’s Ark, but just this dread,
Each drop seems to be a storm waiting to break ahead.
The body fully alert, the intellect unawake
The mind seems a shadow lost in memory’s wake.
We walk in each other’s footsteps without leaving a trace
Astride our own shoulders we move from place to place.
Ruins echo an answer, whoever we call
The past seems to hold each one in thrall.
The sun had to set in that very wilderness
Where the tomb hears to mine a strange likeness.
Someone must pay the price, someone must bear the blame
Of the revolution that even today is a borrowed claim.