Lost In The Echo Of Time Poem by Leonard Dabydeen

Yes, I must say
we all know it
and we see it
like back and front
of naked hands
smoothed in Aloe cream
but I remain
uncertain as rolling pebbles
in a blistering storm
and feel the masquerading heat
like a body
trapped in heated chamber
in a crematorium on fire
as the diaspora swirls
in caste and colour
in rituals and antics
ashrams and mandirs
mosques and churches
all burn inside
with likes and dislikes
and love blind
as blackness of night
or like the hollowness of
a vaulted chamber
and trafficking of flesh
leaves no mortal wound
free from calluses
and indentured souls
stir cluster like potpourri
scenic in coated slavery
lost in the echo of Time.