Hello, hello, can you hear me? Hello?
I’m calling from far away. What?
You can’t hear me? Has my distance
discharged? Are you speaking from mobile
space? Press zero again? Again?
Can you hear me now?
Yes, can you please put Him on?
What number did I call? The Sky —
this is what I was given. He’s not there?
Can I scream him a message?
It’s very urgent, tell him
I saw in my sleep he died and his son
small sobbing child who peed itself
fear-soaked all the way
up and still
not dry.
Tell Him to come and change it.
If he can’t, tell him please
his old warning ripened, that the old
man would eat him if he didn’t
eat.
It ripened. He became
a meal of age. Not in a small dreamy taverna.
In some popular dive now managed
by the mirror.
He saw the best minds of his generation destroyed by
sanity,dragging themselves through an obscure argument at dawn,in search of a
knowledge fix. However, He should
cut the bitterness,the cynism with his pen,like cutting flesh to feel alive.
The lady Art is lying dead there under a clusterfuck of recombinatory tropes,data and endless memes.
No one could go back to yesterday, but everyone could move forward to tomorrow.
Writers must wash literature off themselves. They need to be Men above all,to be human. He is Human! That is his biggest trophy. The fact that
He is a fucked-up HUMAN!!PS:Leonard Cohen,one of my favourite songwriters and poets, after celebrating his
80th birthday this September,released his new album
‘Popular Problems’. ‘Rolling Stone’ readers selected it as one of the
BEST albums of 2014. However, I have chosen a vintage song that ,I think,suits your
“ Zone of Interest”.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAUryeq0awQ