[Written while in Antalya, Turkey as Manager of the Sri Lanka Youth Chess Team, 2007] A NOTE FROM THE MEDITERRANEAN These waters are not our seas, nor these shores our sands They hardly break, these waves and as for colour, This blue-green blends a different composition, Temperatures, these Turkish winter days, are hardly tropical As of course one would expect. There are other differences: The mountains dont really roll down to the sea, They drop These elemental faces carved by the ancient, halt! they tell the sea, rest awhile if you will, they tell the sky. No gold in these breaches, its not fine the sand. No shells, no crustacean crafting, Such were reserved for other lands, other people perhaps. Treasures now, such there are And they speak to me, Of legend and tragedy, Dream and awakening, Exploits and misadventure And love, Requited and lost; Treasures made of stone, Caressed by wind and water Polished by time And they come In the colours of Mediterranean fruit, A fermentation of heart-things, wines spilling over, blood drenched and sun worn. They lie now Baked in the brine of nostalgia The vats in forgotten cellars And secret caves And I report, I am unsettled by these histories I am ignorant of The men and women whose sweat I have not seen, The territorial wrenching that gave birth to nations The grasp and yield that re-drew maps; Yes, unsettled as I watch these unfamiliar seas And as I wait for a word, a glance, A knowing about the unknowns Associated with love, With remembrance And futures that will not, cannot be inhabited.
Posted on: Sat, 09 Nov 2013 13:53:43 +0000