Of once shouted poems
I hear the faintest echoes,
Just a murmur more than background noise today.
They sound a barely whispered chant
of ancient and confused distress
and if I try I can discern
a falling meter to it.
rings with the harmonics
of all of Persia’s unremembered bards
but gone beyond all resonance
are those whose languages
as well as songs
Reading this reminds me of the undefinable purpose for this stint on earth. And what is the significance for you that you are able to hear those echoes?
The songs they were singing are lost in time, in the dream time, but I know I sing the same songs as those who come after me will also do, because we all sing the same song, even though we call it by different names.
Very much echoing time lost in the past.
I was thinking, too, of indigenous languages and cultures, and the need to remember what we are losing right now in this new ‘anthropocene’ age.
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That so tries.