the ghosts of my forebears hide in my bones,
make them dense, live on in them
they steel me with their collective will
inherited
a hundred stern faces
of strangers
cold women, hard men of small stature and sharp features
some dark, some milk. blue and green eyes amid them.
horse men, mountain men, ganges men.
conquerors, kings and princes. titled lords and judges.
esteemed people of character and repute
the hundred – no, thousand – faces flicker in disgust
as they mount with every passing generation
their cumulated weight ever increasing, as did their machinations
agendas criss-crossing, too many voices at once vying for attention
each straitjacketing another and grinding the whole almost to a halt
frenzied static: a net movement of zero
inert but for their shared disappointments in how things turned out
abdulj. 