June and Hanlie took over chanting magic
formulae at Jane, showing her how to make
folders to move documents away, louder and
louder they chanted, wilder and wilder the
sounds growing, what Chladni figures were
forming I could not tell, but Hermien and I
absquatulated in a hurry before our brains
imploded in a flurry of grey matter and
severed ligaments, our tolerance curve
reaching the lowest ebb in all of mankind’s
history
Briefly time flew on Mercurial wings and
Dunmanifestin’* seemed like a good place
again, we returned to calm and silence and
I realized that the fires burning within me were
still smouldering; the brief interlude did not
quench the emotional upheaval I’m striving
so valiantly to contain, as soon as lunch break
sets me free, I’m going to run from here, a
galley slave who reached the end of her tether,
at a loss to think her way out of this maze of
disorderly failure and lack of social compatibility…
*Terry Pratchett, Discworld Series, home of the gods
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well written Margaret..like this a lot...thanks