Another nine eleven comes and slips through afternoon;
not a single house on my block flies a flag or sings a tune.
There seems to be no notice or remembrance of the day
that two years back began the work to take our souls away.
Another nine eleven day and no lines have been drawn;
just like the game of chess, I guess, life moves slow for its pawns.
There isn’t any patriotic rhetoric on CNN or Fox,
no reminders of the war still on that risks the ballot box.
Another nine eleven here and our alert is high,
expecting that the enemy will be seen in our sky.
There isn’t an eye watching the manuevers on the ground,
where politicians scramble to the apathetic sound.
11 SEP 2003
There is something boiling on the stove’s gas-driven flame
Coffee, tea or chai, to me they taste about the same
My cup overfloweth, and I won’t say whose to blame
Each of us has demons that we must conquer and tame
Scribbling in the darkness, a small candle for a light
Imagining the consequence of illusory might
There must a million others sleepless on this night
Each of us believing that the cause we back is right
A literary reference should be made about this point
Some veiled allusion to Rimbaud or lighting up a joint
Each voiceless generation seeks a mouthpiece to anoint
If it’s me that you’ve selected, I must disappoint
Walking in the shadows near the fading of the sun
Late for an appointment, but I’m much too tired to run
As each chapter closes, with higher ladder’s rung
Some look just for endings, disregarding what’s begun
Endless wires and circuits leading out into the void
Means by which some conversation may be well enjoyed
Yet so many people sad, and others are annoyed
Others work to prove themselves by acting unemployed
A throwaway non sequitur I now will introduce
This life is like an orange, squeeze it to enjoy the juice
Watch which way the cannon points, for it may come unloose
You can try to make sense of this, but there’s not much use.
11 SEP 2003