Weighted Down
©July 24th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
The clatter and clash of equipment
Punctures the still, sweating afternoon
Like large needles.
Trees spill green secrets in the path of sunlight,
And the dog looks hopeful.
I look about me with a vague sense of unease,
Waiting for … what?
There is a stillness on the land,
And there is grief abroad.
We are weighted down by it.
What will I say ten years from now?
Did I do all I could?
It was never enough.
Do I do anything at all?
It is never enough.
Will I do something tomorrow?
It will never be enough.
And still, we carry on,
Marionettes, all, saying lines
That aren’t ours, thinking thoughts
That threaten to drown us,
Hoping that the strings that tug at us,
Will pull down the evil that walks
This hallowed earth, all
Puffed-up and stupid.
This is what I hope.
And if prayers could help,
This is what I’d pray.
Meanwhile, there is always work,
And there are always protests,
And YouTube videos.
I will drink deep from my bottle of
Nepenthe, although I cannot forget.
I will square my shoulders,
And go out into the shuffling world.
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