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Poem
                         The idea is to...


       steep oneself in panacea 
                                                   scriptures
                                     when times seem too unbearable
irretrievable
               finding solace in public place pageants 
	waving papier mâché penants
                        but not lingering too long in the cowed comfort of 
   								feeling blameless
take courage then and return
                                        to this tortured blighted
    ephemeral existence 
 
                                                                                                      How else may you live
                                    knowing nothing of what lies beyond
   bad enough
                              while we’re here
             too many things to worry about
                        time to get up
                                                       the effort to sleep long enough

   remember 
         not long ago   about four hundred million years ago
                  there were but twenty-two hours to the day

did the cavemen then sleep two hours less than we who see through our cataract lids the catharsis of the late-night Tolkien saga

   the cleaning the endless cleaning to stay the smell the dirt the germs
   the endless spliced and spiced nourishment 
        for the body the brain 
              the damned boredom

to look out for those we put on this earth 
          for those who put us on this uni-directional road
and for that  
        to strain to study find a job and climb on slippery backs to scale heights of O far too late comfort

    that would give us a name fame be looked upon liked loved cherished admired glorified   
            followed remembered deified
      by seven-day wonder blighters  

fight for what is proclaimed Right 
        for the race for the nation 
                   for the class caste community
lay down our lives for the faith 
              for our founding-fathers 
                        mutilated families    

who may choose to be born
                                           chooses to die

      the idea then is to seek relief
                                                    for as long as the cure us 
         sustains
and return to the fight  to our diurnal plight
   
   and hope in another four-hundred million years
   we would evolve into highrise cavemen
                                                                          needing no sleep
       nor faith nor bonds of bloodied brotherhood
    nor food nor sadist sex nor thoughts of selfhood

       beings evolved beyond the gods
           their descendants 
                    our forefathers handed down to us

though on the way we may have laid waste
 wreaked havoc with the contours on this ekedout earth
            and all that stood in the way
                                                            of our will not to hold back yet another 
                monstrous bigoted world


July 2, 1997 
From the privately pub. coll. (rev. 2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2016
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