Where are the friends that

Used to be indifferent to time

And inconvenience? Mostly now

In memory, the rich emptiness

Of our lives now makes do with

Arranging and rearranging the

Banal paraphernalia of possessions,

Carrying that unspoken hole

In the heart that no possession

Fills.

 

This old-fashioned lack is

Stranger to the times, and to the

Calculations that rule the spaces

That were once resplendent

With the voices of redundant

Camaraderie. Where there were

Organs, there are chips that

Do not yield to helpless

Human need. Even with the

Best of pals still, one extra

Word spoken can lead to

A relationship broken

Not the sufficiency of the

The heartfelt-told informs our

Age, but the efficiency of

Single-minded rage.

This reigning wrath of

Assertion takes life as

Thoughtlessly as you remove

A pebble from your path.

Often such success of liquidation

Incurs no just aftermath.

 

Do not think that those

Who subsist in numbers in

The mudhuts of outskirts,

Or city-sore pockets are

Exempt from this rage.

In their book of travails,

This brutal press of the times

Is an additional poisoned

Page.

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