Maybe it will rise in the west,
The sun that is,
On some given day.
After that, maybe the moon will split in two
And its halves will be consumed
Into the staggering belly of the sun.
Will the affluent then disperse
To their fallout shelters,
Their concrete playpens?
Will those be of any use then?
Let us say those walls were once intact and strong,
Will they remain that way for long?
Maybe they will shake down
Widespread earthquakes that is,
Sinking the mountains flat as if they had just been turned
Into strands of yarn,
Around the time of that given day.
And if the mountains were shaken and taken
From the idyllic backdrops of our lives,
So then too would be the skyscrapers and pyramids
And state-of-the-art bridges.
Would you reach for your wallet then,
Grabbing it after you made sure
You’d checked the mirror and
Were dressed in your best
Before running into the ravaged streets?
In my view,
Not one dollar would matter then,
Not even a million or would two.
Even giving all your means in charity
Would have no bearing.
Man would probably be equal then.
Or maybe not in appearance.
Maybe for an hour, the faces and bodies of the beautiful
Would be swapped with the ugly and forgot.
Could you be concerned with the approval,
The opinion of your neighbor then?
The ones who might’ve laughed at your career path
And the people you loved
And the interests you had?
Your children’s college-fund savings you guarded so carefully?
For which hand-to-heart country you pledged your nationality?
That old car you were embarrassed to drive?
Respect and prestige and honor and remembrance you wanted?
The fulfillment of all your sexual desires?
The flatness of your stomach or the circumference of your thighs?
Maybe it will redden
And never return to blue,
The sky that is,
On that given day,
And then rip into pieces
Letting outer space seep through.
What would people do?
Scream? Run? Scatter?
Would falling on your knees (at that point) to beg even matter?
Maybe the seas would boil and burst into flames.
Maybe clouds of dust and poisoned gas would all of us suffocate.
Maybe magma would cover the land,
Ripping apart every child from their mother’s or lover’s hand.
Maybe all things above the skies
Will rain down in fragments after they collide.
Maybe all the matter inside Earth
(That we had once taken for granted, the signs of its richest blues and greens)
Will be removed with one fathomless squeeze.
And if you are then still alive, or somehow able to perceive,
There would remain for you here only two things:
Sorrow and Fear.
Maybe it would be a beginning of those two.
Or maybe an end.
Maybe man will have reduced you down to a few superficial things,
And only God kept track of what was wholly in your soul,
Every atom and every string.