Impossible memories of a loving future
I remembered
the night yet to come,
an uncommonly buoyant dirge preceded,
when the last words of the voices from the sky
echoed in her mysterious cranium.
Words, their baby shaped, serrated words,
nervous, excited implants,
fixated on leaders’ dark psychologies,
power’s twisted ideologies,
the devastating meaning-making of world humans.
I remembered
the night she will stop
hearing those Spirits in her mind be;
in blame in pain in paranoia in attack
stop berating her
for having mediocre world ideas
to end all trauma
like little, adamant, intellectual, hurt, blaming
children,
debating all our disasters;
baulking at our grand violences;
whirling in endless litanies;
plunging her into
the world’s screams of trauma,
child soldiers and fundamentalist fanatics,
killer colonels and judging leaders,
into apokalypsis – the unveiling of ultimate collapse;
desperately searching for the hasty light
of a philosopher king
to solve all our misdeeds.
I remembered
the grief
of the coming night
of relief.
I remembered
that she will cry a flood ,
a river of tears to forgive the whole world,
when she will have had her will back.
The sparkling moment when
her energy will be free to tune
into love, philosophy, adventure, art;
small moments of joy,
impulses of the body,
discovering another fully,
be present for her loved
to be present
present
‘tomorrow’ she will say yesterday
and we will meet the day before eternity
when her feet feel the ground,
and her mind does not anymore
rove without respite,
in the utopian redemption of humankind;
in the impossible memories of its loving future.
Transcript of Mornings
did you eat something this morning?
I ask her loudly her back to me face to the garden hair to the wind
the yellow weavers nesting above chirp wildly
blazing blue kingfishers perch calm on low branches
iridescent black/red sunbirds flit maniacally
gurgle of a clear stream stays invisible to the eye
here’s some papaya/banana/mango/watermelon/plum/dates eat it please
her silent rebellion of forgetting urges my insistence
here’s your pills take your pills I project louder
the water boils coffee is poured cigarette smoked
what are your Voices chattering about?
the question flies past her
falling with a distinct thud
in the grassy neon beyond
She smiles broadly and says ‘Good Morning, CooCoo!’
I look out with blurred eyes
and count the shades of green
a monkey sits on the highest branch
of a creeper wrapped tree
I remember the day it slept sitting
on the balcony railing
spread legs and hands that are legs
reminding me of how my father
slept standing in a rattling bus
swaying on a strap
to a faraway construction site
do all monkeys have sad eyes?
have you taken your pills? I ask loudly
her glass is half full
maybe her day can be as optimistic
