OUR TIME
Nowadays, we do not wait anymore.
Have we all become impatient children?
We rip our blue planet apart ourselves,
make of it a desert.
We explore the lunar desert,
add her rocks to our empty landscapes.
We lower our sky over smoking lagoons,
where trapped light lingers like false mirages.
We bulldoze our dead ancestors,
pile skyscrapers upon them.
We recapture tear-gassed squares,
filled with plastic bullets, electronic commercials,
and we burn our banners.
Their silent voice: Put your banners down, go home...
Enraged and exhausted from small skirmishes,
We turn confused and ask ourselves:
Which way is back? Which way is home?
Altin Topi Fall 1997
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