atiguhya padma
04-04-2005, 01:08 PM
On the Ouse, the Monnow and the Uck,
Are there those that hear this refined sound
This language of the flow of air on the surface of water?
Does this union of force, this junction
Of substance speak to those that stroll
Along the banks of black, cold water?
The Thames flows onward to the steel gates
That the city hopes will save the future
From inundations of terrific power.
We don’t like to see the arrogance,
The pride, the fearsomeness of nature.
In these city streets only the sound
Of commerce is sanctified.
Snow hardly falls here anymore.
The winters are drier than before,
Sure rain falls, but it’s a feeble rain
A perspiring precipitation. (They say
We'll have another drought this summer).
I walk along the embankment
And wonder about the icebergs
The polar bears, the indigenous peoples,
And all their confused and ambiguous
Hopes and fears.
Yesterday was such a lovely warm
Spring day. The air was still. The sun
Was mildly welcoming. The same sun
That laid waste 15,000 lives across
The channel, only a year or two ago.
It is strange to me. I found an underground
Poster advertising all the companies
That had invested in reducing carbon emissions.
Its amazing what we will do, making profit from
Saving ourselves.
Still, those other island people, look into a future
That is nearer the seabed than the seashore.
And the water will lie everywhere for them,
It will cover their world. I just walk by a river,
Through a city that never stops, alongside
A concrete Victorian embankment,
Through which this island country slowly created a dream
Of a world that will soon conquer our world.
On the rubbled shoreline, the green covered stones
Reveal a multi-coloured sheen of some forgotten oil.
Are there those that hear this refined sound
This language of the flow of air on the surface of water?
Does this union of force, this junction
Of substance speak to those that stroll
Along the banks of black, cold water?
The Thames flows onward to the steel gates
That the city hopes will save the future
From inundations of terrific power.
We don’t like to see the arrogance,
The pride, the fearsomeness of nature.
In these city streets only the sound
Of commerce is sanctified.
Snow hardly falls here anymore.
The winters are drier than before,
Sure rain falls, but it’s a feeble rain
A perspiring precipitation. (They say
We'll have another drought this summer).
I walk along the embankment
And wonder about the icebergs
The polar bears, the indigenous peoples,
And all their confused and ambiguous
Hopes and fears.
Yesterday was such a lovely warm
Spring day. The air was still. The sun
Was mildly welcoming. The same sun
That laid waste 15,000 lives across
The channel, only a year or two ago.
It is strange to me. I found an underground
Poster advertising all the companies
That had invested in reducing carbon emissions.
Its amazing what we will do, making profit from
Saving ourselves.
Still, those other island people, look into a future
That is nearer the seabed than the seashore.
And the water will lie everywhere for them,
It will cover their world. I just walk by a river,
Through a city that never stops, alongside
A concrete Victorian embankment,
Through which this island country slowly created a dream
Of a world that will soon conquer our world.
On the rubbled shoreline, the green covered stones
Reveal a multi-coloured sheen of some forgotten oil.