Manna for Thought
His empty moments fill with empty thoughts of
his ultimate uselessness that end in anxiety.
He reaches to his security. A broom with a colorfully
decorated handle. It is made in China.
A boon to mankind! Its wide manmade and
man-programmed head with intelligence is made
of stiff nylon hair. He begins to sweep the carport
of all the dead leaves that fell to their destiny.
He knows full well, they will return the next day
if not that same afternoon, blown in again and again
by the Santa Ana winds and in larger and larger
quantity, as October progresses into November.
It is also the Fall of his life. No matter how hard
he pushes the broom or how high he raises his arms
thrusting the ultimate fate away from his face
his mind refuses to stop churning.
It's only after he has scooped the leaves into
the garbage bag and perspiring profusely from the
exertion and when he sits with a refilled cup of coffee
in front of a large aquarium alive with gold fish
that he realizes he is their god and that without food
there're no gods.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka OctoberÓ2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem