9/11 – The After Story

America

There are flea markets in Tribeca
Little migrant stalls selling Pakistani Cashmere,
Chinese ornaments and African curios.
While a little upwards, Madison
Square garden hosts a Floyd Mayweather fight.
While a long way downwind, you have renewal,
A 9/11 memorial, a structure that epitomizes
The fighting spirit of the common man.
The days of Marcione are long gone. We are now burning
Our emotions, on a man called Floyd,
Who like the door-to-door salesmen during the great depression,
Lifts the healing spirit. While a little uptown
You find a fireman telling his son, how many bled on 9/11.
Everyone perished, the Indian salesman,
The Chinese hawker and the Irish fire fighter,
And so did the great American spirit, at least for a while.
Now 16 years afterwards we hear the cheer that man Floyd gets as he
Walks by, a black man with no credentials,
Cheered by throngs of white people. The American dream is giving color,
The same chance to raise a legacy on his shoulder strength.
Many did post 9/11, to become unsung heroes
Who may not have fanfare or fandom,
But live inside people’s hearts. Grief is rarely a past tense,
It is always incumbent, hitherto spanned
A few more years more, a lurking hunger
To look past the agony. The calendar starts with MLK day, the day of dreams
And on 9/11, it dwells on lives lost, when
Prayers unite everyone, every heart pining
For a lost loved one, litanies bridging here and there,
Earnest pleas, rubbing on fate’s ears.
While in the ghetto, yet another legend is born
Whose umbilical cord is cut, like slave owners
Cut the chains of freed slaves. Life starts
In that very moment, you become a singularity,
Freedom too starts with a step, like freed
Slaves found out. Life and freedom,
They become proportional at some point in time.
Everyone lives obesely in New York,
Even same-sex couples. Dreams know
No gender or color here, it is the most primal defiance
Of fate, it thickens skin, and molts
Slave names, and makes you the man
Climbing away from your roots, like a butterfly
Climbs out of a cocoon. Either way,
You develop wings, when fate will give
You a choice – Daedalus or Icarus,
Which to the colored man sounds like
Mayweather or Tyson. The fall,
Like a wedge, standing between the two.

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