* * *

 

 

 

Once we had the world backwards and forwards:

—it was so small it fit in two clasped hands,

so simple that a smile did to describe it,

so common, like old truths echoing in prayers.

 

History didn’t greet us with triumphal fanfares:

—it flung dirty sand into our eyes.

Ahead of us lay long roads leading nowhere,

poisoned wells and bitter bread.

 

Our wartime loot is knowledge of the world,

—it is so large it fits in two clasped hands,

so hard that a smile does to describe it,

so strange, like old truths echoing in prayers.