No thunder here in this our wasteland,
No blinding rainstorm but only dry land,
And dry people,who think little
Of the things which learned people think.
No talk of Michelangelo,
And the High Renaissance,
Or even the laws of quantum physics.
The juvescence of youth is gone,
In the wasteland like a whirlwind,
Youth is gone with the day,
Fading fast as the evening shadows,
Into a yellowed sunset of clouded memories.
Each day this world dies again,
When night's dark umbrella
Shields evening sol's timorous rays,
And wild animals to their hidden lair,
In hasted steps,scurry away.
Time becomes timeless,
When daily the same steps we retrace,
In life's never-ending trudge.
I have no place of abode,
No deed of permanence,I wear
Restlessness as my golden crown.
Son of Everes and nymph Chariclo,
Wandering in a modern wasteland,
In crowded cities of steel and glass,of multitudes
Who in daylight walk the dark road,
Calling light darkness and dark light,
Who possess eyes but see not.
O great woe unto this people,
And again,a thousand woes,
For speedily,their folly has overtaken them,
And as the swift ,regal eagle
Wisdom to the mountains has flown.
In their counsels supremely reigns confusion
And in the dusty streets,a madding crowd
Knows not from whence to seek deliverance.
On Frederick Street walks a woman,
In splendid caparisons attired,
And in her handbag,one slim brown hand
Clutches a talisman,a gift from her ''holyman''
To keep away the evil he'd said,
[In this land,anyone could be a ''holyman'']
J,the rastaman at Queen Street corner,
Wears his long styled locks as his talisman,
''No evil could touch me,Jah Rastafari'',he says
As smilingly he dismisses a customer.
J pauses,then turns and asks:
''Why then does this blind descendant
Of Cadmus and Udaeus,
Walk the streets of Port of Spain
in this modern day,so far from Thebes?''
''So you can see me,'' the seer pauses,
