276. READING IN FURY

READING IN FURY
My erstwhile adventure my maladroit conquest
my incessant clamor my fury my anger my verve.
Amidst all these, what stands the tallest is power:
the fist in the swing, the dichotomy of the hem and
the haw, the largess of a monsoon, the finish.
I reluctantly agree to abide by you - my shadow ghost -
and all your ticklish ways. A horse, in wild gallop,
would be no worse.
-
See the mark of that plane so deep in the sky?
It is, while blameless, at work on its own faults.
Metallic sheen, glow off the sun, thick windows
of airplane glass, the white jetstream of invented air.
-
I, down below, look up squinting. Trying to read,
I welcome no distraction - yet there you are,
again pointing up. A nettlesome pest, to be sure.
I again look up. Now there is fire in the sky,
a huge globe of flame falling down on our
heads. Are we to dash simply for survival?
Is fear our last amend for all this fetid living
we have done?
-
Alas, it is over that quickly.
Nothing hits the ground,
and everything, it seems,
goes again on its way.