Letters Written In Fetters - 1

Dear son, I am told I should tell you things not in books It is hard for me to begin Your mother said only what is in the book I know I think my dilemma is neither you nor I But the whole purpose of the book This letter may turn into if I try to understand me. And if I am not in the picture Then your existence becomes questionable. We must Establish our need for more than mere presence And this makes us listening to each other significant, Make this letter existentially important And you significantly more important than either of us think I do not read books because I believe all books Books took a wrong turn just by their necessity to speak And to make speech more permanent than memory They disrupted a whole tradition of history to write What we were, and are becoming By making picture out of words for reflection As they tell us who we are Without beat of tongue, and rhythm of gesticulation That surrounded the melody of oral communication. The literary man made an ulterior civilization Telling us with barbed cynicism: the pen is mightier than the sword I handled all books carefully like a weapon For in them are seeds of destruction Not intended alone for our history But for the civilization of our identity. My dear son Every structure and fiber of our imagination Is no longer about us For we have been reduced to incongruous metaphors Supplanting faith in history Supplanting us with toxic ideas of utopia Knowing full well for this dream There is no remembrance after sleep For waking is an hypnosis for those in too deep. Even as I proclaim this preamble on clutches.