An Old Poem

About forty years ago I wrote a poem. After the big changes in Europe after the collapse of the USSR I thought it had lost its actuality. Now I feel it hasn't. Plus cela change, plus cela reste la même chose




I READ YET ANOTHER POEM
describing how the end will come
with the nuclear holocaust. Suddenly
I felt very sure nothing such
will ever happen. There will be no big bang,
only some tiny ones perhaps. But surely
a long big whimper: Big powers
insulting one another, serious crises,
disarmament conferences in Geneva,
drug addicts in Washington, dissidents in Moscow,
hunger in Sahel, terrorism in the Middle East,
new cars, fashions and hits,
breakthroughs in computing and space technology,
more handicapped children and mentally disturbed people,
more revolutionary and ecological movements,
fewer trees, fewer birds and less time
to be aware of the high midsummer sky turning slowly
above you and around you and of the mild night breeze
touching gently your hair and stirring up
some strange feelings and childhood memories.