They built each city and each dam,
perfected their technology
to master heaven, earth and sea,
in love with money, Marx, or Lamb?
Yet, all we’ve dug up and see now
are ruins, wrecks and skeletons,
black plastic garbage bags by tons,
a billboard with a smiling cow.
Their love, hate, honour and disgrace?
—abstractions to us who’ve come far
across time, galaxy and star.
We’re not piqued by the human race.
Their lives and actions mean as much
as those of cockroaches, snails and ants.
How ugly they are without pants.
We’ve come here not to preach or touch.
The humble, pious and the meek
still clinging in their graves to faiths
are real to us as ghosts or wraiths
that lived a century or a week.
Yes, we have closed the book on that,
the denizen of house and mall,
and saved the worthiest of all,
each species and each breed of cat.
Leo Yankevich's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Ark by Leo Yankevich )
- Sky is red, Aftab Alam
- Musings., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- TRUST, maharshi trivedi
- Alone in December, James Anthony Creamer
- Mind Albums, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- A Nerd's Way of Thinking, James Anthony Creamer
- Need, Akhtar Jawad
- A Poem for You, James Anthony Creamer
- My Nephews, James Anthony Creamer
- Alone in January, James Anthony Creamer
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)