If we hold this world in the hollow of our palms Even as it tumbles down the drain Being dug outside our window, If we catch, somehow, this rolling world, and stall its descent To the underground of capitals and parliament houses, If we keep it, somehow, in our hearts And away from streets that lead to hungry, material traditions Of nation-making, history-building, news-creating, Then perhaps tonight Our party full of dinner and songs Will roll with laughter That does not constantly check on the drain Being dug outside our window. If we carry in our pockets the world like a bunch of keys that sets free Larders, pantries, godowns of silenced histories So that the banquet is full again With tastes we must have known once but have now forgotten, Then you and I, my friend, Can go on a long walk after the party With the world on the dip of our collar bones like a sparrow unthreatened by the hawk Of fear. What say you, my friend, that upon return we read a book together ...