Ode

If by some miracle,Proctored by a far away god,Zeus or Shiva moved me;Translate my essence through time, not space.Give young, feeble I a chance,To meet my progenitors.When they were twenty-something,Learning the lessons they instil,Hiding hardships as I do now,Smiling through beaten eyes as I do still,Laughing through cracks of pain unseen.If I should be so privileged,To spend a single cycle with them,Equal in age,I feel they’d enjoy my company,And I theirs. “Ode” is the commissioned poem for SouthPole Zine #1: riso-printed, hand-stamped, numbered, 100 copies. Out December 1. Notify me December 1 SouthPole Dispatch Essays from the borderlands of technology, art, music, and culture — about the systems we build, and what they do to us. Subscribe Email sent! Check your inbox to complete your signup. No spam. Unsubscribe anytime.

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