The Superb Generation

         By Michael Linden, Sri Lanka

Reading by the author

When the superb generation arose
It was not immediately apparent.
There were no fireworks, for instance,
No great proclamations,
Just the intimate tremoring circumstance
That something had changed.
For a while, we ignored the insistent
Humming that came from we knew
Not where, or a great cadenza perhaps
Resounding in the bowels of the immortal
Earth. We were deaf to everything, sublimely
Ignorant of the coming storm: a cataclysm.
Of course, the years went slowly by.
They needed to grow, these strong
Passionate provocateurs. How they chafed
At the bit, almost choking on the bland
Lies, the feeble doctrines which we fed
Them day by day. Such excrement!
But they survived. Of course they did,
Happily congregating in huge numbers
Blocking the serpentine traffic of our dying
Insinuations. They would not tolerate, no
They would not tolerate the reckless tourniquets,
The twisted impressions we offered them.
There was no hope. What we had called
Civilization and its politics disappeared
In the twinkle of an eye. The lithe bodies
Of our youthful saviours loomed above us.
All was now lost but for them a new planet
Grew, green and untainted in the mellow air.

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