“Praise the mutilated world,” pressed the Polish poet, Adam Zagajewski (b. 1945). It was a thunderous voice marveling at a desecrated world (or part of it) after 9/11. Not only lamenting at the coming down of humanity along with the twin towers, but delighting at the “gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns.”
That light, which is fresher than the previous one; but lacks the freshness of the coming one. This light that lurks in the skies to skid through clouds and grace the earth and heal its scars. This light that lures the earth to grapple with its gentle kiss. This light less harsher than the hatred humanity is asked to hallow.
How incredibly terrible to find a graceful moment amid grievous movements in the world? How respectably wrathful it has become to glow in darkness? How overwhelmingly ousted are we from this world into another one attainable yet avoided?
Mutilating the world with melees between self-serving ideologues (like those from the empire) and self-starving demagogues (those wanting to demolish the empire and erect another one).
A redeeming Hope may have been killed, but is not yet extinct. Before we douse it and declare its death, something unforeseen can happen and forthtell of a day when Love becomes the law.
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