Cradle Wave

This wave is a momentous force
Bound always forward
In the cradle of civilization
It rushed toward the shore, toward disintegration

Inevitable is the crash, the foam
The roiling erosion of stone
Receding or proceeding
It carries away bones and misery, or

Inundating the land and the people
The wave risks all,
Never returning to the sea
Souls thrash under the flood

Grasping at freedom and anarchy
Yet hope and liberty remain submerged
For now looking up from below, still
Yearning for what they have not

The Western horizon trembles softly
Cowering with unknown contingencies
The fear of losing control, Revolution wrought by
The critical mass of inequality

1 comment:

  1. This poem came to me a while ago, before Mubarak's ouster, before the all the bloodshed in Libya, now Bahrain and elsewhere.

    My feeling was that such a force of change can be wondrous and inspiring but also dangerous and devastating, too. When you see it from afar, it's sparkling and massive and awe-striking, and even as it crashes, you marvel at its power. Only after the waters rise and the devastation starts, do you realize that something so pure has caused such destruction.

    Now considering the recent tsunami, maybe the wave of political will wasn't the best metaphor, but this came weeks before that heartwrenching disaster struck.

    The world is in constant flux, both physical and political, and this was an attempt to comment on that, if even for a moment.


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