Pramila Khadun writes

A world called tomorrow

 

We sat around a hearth of dim fires

Sipping our coffee laced with sugar.

Considered as most acclaimed and influential poets,

By the usual world of glitz and glamour,

We were rather focusing on mankind’s fate

While the river flowed languidly.

We remembered the illustrious moments

Of great inventions, of great makers of civilization,

Of fighters of liberty, the writers and the satires,

The painters and the singers and the accompanying musicians,

And the sweet sweat on the neck of farmers.

We, as avant-gardistes of our times,

Could not allow our minds to play old thoughts.

Our unrelenting passion for humanity’s progress

Which must glow like paint on canvass,

The gleaming light that stands on man’s path

Will never leave man like old trash or recycled garbage.

Man’s evolution must not lead to man’s degeneration.

While the columns of smoke rose

Like falcons flapping their wings

For the great heights, with graceful composure

We eased our troubled hearts

And prayed for man’s unity, for peace and for love.

Prayers have powers, conclusively, incisively.

With our uniform loneliness, we started drawing

On plain paper with our box of crayons

Of a world called tomorrow.

 

 Coffee Drinker -- Oliver Ray