Breaking down cultural barriers
Transposer une culture dans une autre par delà les barrières culturelles

Thursday, 8 October 2009

Tatul Sonentz - DETRITUS

On the tattered stained skirts of
the town near a forsaken highrise--
punctured with paneless windows
vacant as the stare of the blind at an
imagined sunrise--sat the old man on
a stump that once as a lofty tree had
dared the lightning with its soaring
solid limbs dense with sap heavy
with a myriad leaves converting
searing rays to breath of life…

Surrounded by weeds of all shapes
shades and sizes thrusting through
cracked concrete broken brick and
pitch-black asphalt -- the old man
smoked his stogie his milky eyes
prodding my intruding presence
and its quest through a wispy
curtain of tobacco smoke
and setting cataract…

At hearing distance I broke
a silence already disturbed by
a distant jackhammer ripping apart
redundant rock and pitted pavement–

“There is a park near by with flower-
beds and ornate wrought iron and soft
buffed wood benches… why do you sit
here?” I asked. The old man stared at
me and without a word reached for
a white wild flower blooming on
a formless bush in the tangle of
weeds around him – a flower
shaped like a tiny ceramic
wine goblet—lithe petals
aquiver in the breeze…

The old man plucked it
and beckoning to take it
“hold it” he said “this fragile
fragment of everlasting life --
neither God-made granite nor
man-made concrete nor towering
temple or fort erected with pomp and
circumstance can stifle the eternal life
force in the humble weed engaged
in daily battle for its place in the
sun--your flower beds of roses
and tulips tended and nurtured
by gloved hands will shrivel
and die in the absence of
care—“Take it” said the
old man “as a feisty
greeting from

Tatul Sonentz

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