Two decades have passed since we were on holiday
In curious California. Our son was making his way
From College to a future home of joy and wonder.
One Sunday he took us on a drive from Santa Monica
On the Pacific coast to a desert-scape beyond
The bounds of our imagined globe, an ever-never land.
Mojave Desert, sun and chill wind; we sped along
Miles of scrub and flatland, dark and light; even the ghost towns
Seemed illusive in fancy. Not many miles away, we learn,
There is a desolation known as ‘Death Valley'.
Red Rock looms in surreal serrations,
Reminding us of primordial geology.
Outcrops of stone and sand astound,
Upthrust of sediments from lake or sea,
Millions of years ago. Spiky Joshua trees.
If this waste was once home to human life,
And if sages then had fathomed philosophy,
Would they have envisaged our world today?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem