Dear Alan,

Right now if you open your eyes, still mercury in its wonder, you won’t smile. Far below the surface of the sand where you fell asleep, red shirt and jeans baked in the summer sun, there was Gaia; and she rocked you in her thick, brown arms. The song in you- hear it?- is her gift.

The vineyards are so gnarled they bear no fruit. Wine is blood (only human now). Your homeland lies in splinters inside your throat. Not a bird is left. Everybody hews limbs off each other. You were tired, little head lolling side to side; she took you in. Beneath the damask sepals of your heart, hope had dehisced. You had no language. Childhood shrank under your favorite oak tree. Your old city had become all but a city.

Maybe a year or two later when your limbs gather masculinity, and the cells of your brain proliferate nebulae-like, you will know how a continent fell at your pink feet, begging mercy and peace and god knows what offal. They sold you. They ate your heart; fought on who ate more elegantly. Dear boy, someday you’ll exhume the fear off your marrow. Someday you will cut off the umbilical cord and fling it down at he remnant of men tearing themselves to chunks of bitter meat. The Mediterranean will be gutted in a gorgeous flash. Light will be salt.

Darwin awaits you. A scarab beetle lies face-down inside his goblet. The fittest have survived.

©Mohana Das

3 thoughts on “Dear Alan,

  1. This is rich and wonderful in its portrayal of a country (although I think world) in mortal danger. While we still have the power to perhaps do something to correct and solve earth’s problems, it in fact is disappearing before our eyes, like an internal virus eating away its vital organs. Your artful way of using metaphors brought the issue front and center with no shortcuts, so we are face to face with the enemy. Those who would oppose efforts to unite and set priorities right do not deserve the future we want for our children..nations. Great writing, Mohana.

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