Updated date:

Fountain and Pitchers

Author:

You (may) think that it does not
happen the way that you imagine it — but it
happens exactly that way.
It then culminates into laws
that can not be broken (like I can not walk
down the street naked, without clothes), laws that must
that must be respected, words that must
be followed literally; doors that must be
kept closed — windows that can be only
opened once or twice in a year; what
exists beyond that Door — that's none of our
business. Our flesh is soft, and it
can not withstand the force
of the spectacles beyond that door: only the
gun~makers can go beyond that
door, only the gun~makers have flesh
that are strong enough to endure
those experiences;

You open your eyes
After a deep and prolonged sleeping.
Your eyes directly encounter
a crowd of people who have come here
from the desert: these people are
thirsty — yet they have no tongues, and they
can not speak. They have no hands, too.
Each one has an earthen pitcher before
them, and they gently kick those pitchers, and
point their finger at the metallic pitcher
that is there before you.
Your pitcher is made of metal, but it has
leakages.
Their pitchers are earthen, but they, too,
have leakages.
You turn your head, and discover
a deep (flowing) waterfall at the left side
of your head.
You had heard that there is an abandoned
metal foundry — somewhere in this
meadow. You look at your wristwatch: by the
time you will return from the foundry, each person
in this crowd will be eighty years old.
You could have waited here, and invent
some shortcut. But the crowd is restless, wild,
and uncivilized. Before them, you can not
think clearly.
You decide to go away.

The year is 2080.
A thick bed of yogurt~white cloud
has covered the entire earth. The cloud
is healing the earth underneath it.
It's 8:15 a.m. of the morning. By the noon,
the cloud will dissipate and evaporate into space.
revealing a new world.
There is a one unified worldwide railway, now;
You can go from London (via Moscow)
to New Delhi in 37 hours; from New York
to Buenos Aires, in 39 hours.
There is a one unified worldwide government, now:
There is only one president (for the entire
world) — the election is to be held
by the middle of this year.
You sit on an armchair — on the bed
of clouds above your house (the cloud can support
the weight) — turn on the starlink (powered by
SpaceX) satellite internet radio — drink coffee and enjoy
the morning sun.
You look at your wristwatch; it has
stopped working.

Comments

Hegel (author) from 26.3452° N, 89.4482° E on February 24, 2021:

If the land is fertile, we may grow various crops, vegetables, flowers, fruits, et cetera. Herein lies the test of agricultural fertility: growth/prosperity.

Yes, the middle portion of the poem has compositional gaps. You need to use your own imagination to fill the scenes. I intentionally left these creative gaps in the middle portion of the poem, to make the poem a bit puzzling.

Thank you for your visit, Ann. I really appreciate it.

Ann Carr from SW England on February 24, 2021:

Certainly a fertile imagination! I had trouble keeping up, so I need to read again to get my head round it all.

Ann

Hegel (author) from 26.3452° N, 89.4482° E on February 23, 2021:

Thank you, John.

The thing named 'imagination' is made out of the material that Immanuel Kant defined as the "thing-in-itself". The thing-in-itself is directly linked to/with space (i.e., infinity). Hence imagination, in my opinion, is itself boundless by its very nature. Practice may sharpen it, and unlock stages in its capacity, as there are (unlockable) stages in a computer game.

I'm glad that you enjoyed the poem, and I thank you again for your appreciation of this piece.

John Hansen from Gondwana Land on February 23, 2021:

I don't know what to say Tanmoy. Your imagination knows no bounds. An enlightening read.

Related Articles