Another India (30)

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Looking at this now I am reminded of the souls in Canto III who wander eternally. Those marching bannermen, punished for a life of indecision. Who are they today?

“And so I looked and saw a kind of banner/ rushing ahead, whirling with aimless speed, as though it would not ever take a stand;/ behind it an interminable train/ of souls pressed on, so many that I wondered/ how death could have undone so great a number.”

I spoke with H. yesterday. A simple question; a muttered, stuttered, yes-no-maybe answer. I do this a lot. Are they me?

Every morning a new nightmare. Not my own, but one that only Dante could have dreamt up. The cold violence never seems to cease. Are they them?

I spend a lot of time making pictures these days. This week especially. In between I refresh Twitter expecting more breaking news. Are they us?

 

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