Featured image by WTop

After Civil War and Tsunami, floods again,
the worst in 25 years, which recalls more

or less the war’s length, and the Tsunami
won’t return for another hundred. Where

will we molder then? Youth are rising
but falling before English speed, This

banal combination of death and black
arm bands, a poet and all the diaspora

unable to carry a blanket or a lamprey
to the damned, who have lost photos

and cutlery, and the great aunt who
could not climb to the roof in time…

reminiscences running in the family,
an earlier flood recorded by

an older poet. Now it is our time.
Boys and girls united from North

to South. Have you noticed helping
hands crossing ethnic lines? At least

fifty percent of us want to go
beyond ancient bitterness and sing

the anthem in all our languages. And
young men and women, our hopes

and dreams, they will learn to bat
in foggy conditions. I know they will,

and we, the nation in exile and at home,
will pull out arrack and raise

our glasses to the new, independent,
third path we have built, brilliantly

playing India and China back
and forth, while the West has

turned our favored Uncle, again.