As we search for our places in the world, it often seems that
our population wanders around lost.
We cover our faces and pretend that it is enough to slog
through our days immersed in the pettiness of keeping the sand out of our eyes.
We huddle in our little corners and hope the storm will pass us by.
There are lots of movies lately that imagine the end of the
world as we know it. It seems to be a favorite topic for all those young
theater-goers who assume they will be the survivors.
But what does the Earth look like in those scenarios? Where
have we arrived when the dust settles? Are a few pieces of silver enough for
what we have given away?
I wrote “Shamal” (In the Cat’s Eye, Snap Screen Press, 2009)
a few years ago to ask some of these questions as we continue our journey
through human history. I fear that too many of us are now willing to do nothing
as the Earth withers under the winds of war and the fires in the forests of our
minds.
Glenn K. Currie
Shamal
The storm rolled
across the land,
Pushing a wall of
sand a thousand feet high.
It carried the
remains
Of crusaders and
martyrs,
Filling the cracks in
the earth
With ancient epoxy.
The lines of living
were lost
In the enveloping
darkness.
Borders disappeared,
As the wind blended
sacred soil
With the sweat of
shepherds and kings.
It was a world of the
blind,
Each man a wanderer.
When the dust
settled,
The moon spread
pieces of silver
Upon the burial
ground,
And the stars
whispered assurances
That nothing had
changed.
No comments:
Post a Comment