To Scarlett, Rhet Butler and Ashley
And to Nanny, who tightened Scarlett’s corset
To the likes of Gerald O’ Hara, and his many pale-skinned
Daughters, who were flooded with beaus.
To plantations, picnics, belles and notoriety that’s faded.
How can these have possibly Gone With Wind?
Are the draughts of wind so harsh
That Howard Roark and Dominique’s
Courage flails? How else can Elseworth Tooheys
And Gail Wynands live, while they fail today.
Ah where are Heathcliff and Catherine? They like many others
Seem to disappear in the mists of Wuthering Heights.
Today I can only see an Inferno
A smoldering flame of cities
Monstrously swallowing up people alive.
In the midst of towers, I stand.
But is there a locale Far From the Madding Crowd,
Where I can escape the cycle of death and life?
I wait to be led to the idyllic
Bridge of San Luis Rey. But that is a dream,
Whilst sniffing pages, I’ve realised
Death must meet life, the living shall part
And the dead shall greet them opened armed,
As they cross the bridge of life.
© Mumtaz. N Khorakiwala
( Batool Idrish Siamwala)
Picture Courtesy: James Forbes