To Readers, Everywhere/ Indran Amirthanayagam

MC

Do you understand the poems you receive

are cries of the heart/soul/mind. There are

no bulletins more important to me, from

Morne Calvaire where I live, to you, friends,

accomplices in these attempts to diss the fates.

To those who write back, thank you. To those

who do not, I remain the optimist, but for how

long? You are my prodigal sons and daughters.

I am old enough now to say this. Saint Peter

is counting. God is pacing. We are waiting

for a reply, Write, or the poems will dry

on the vine; the wine will stay in its

bottles, waiting for the cry from the sentinel,

the wild, coursing hoot of joy, the prodigal

child, the promised time has arrived.

Indran Amirthanayagam, January 31, 2016

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