The sun does not seem to get discouraged,
it has risen and set more than 2,000 times
since that day the world we knew ended,
when I turned on the radio and the announcer
seemed to be narrating some latter-day 'War of the Worlds'
or playing old tapes of the '93 World Trade Center bombing
on its anniversary, but then listening more I learned
that the unthinkable had happened,
the lovely, twin needle-spires I used to gaze on,
silvered by the sun, from a hill on Staten Island,
in whose bowels I used to catch
the train to New Jersey,
those mighty, lovely objects
were gone forever,
blasted towers of the tarot,
and inside, a towering sense
of the stability of the world I lived in
crashed and fell in mirrored response.
Since then, the Asian tsunami,
the end of New Orleans as we knew it,
genocide in Darfur
and yet somehow my world goes on,
habits reconstitute themselves,
even the sense of the ordinary
survived and inconspicuously
returned one day
and is looking at me now
from across the table,
for the mind and senses
are not adequate to all this
very nicely written, what a lovely sentiment straight from the heart it reflects how we all feel deep inside on this day. I loved it.
Oh Max, this is so personal, so poignant. It is hard to believe sometimes that even in the face of atrocities - our lives continue, the earth still spins on its axis, that things become routine again. Thank you for sharing this slice of your thoughts.
Day is...day is not, and the sun continues to rise...and set...only to rise again. How perfectly you expressed my grief...and our loss...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The tragedy you painted with sad colours And Max it's a great loss of humanity?