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Echoes of a Generation
A disembodied voice on tape Echoing the lives and loves of a generation Spoke to me as I watched Particles of the dust of the Nile Hang in suspense in the hot still air of the Khamsin And I thought and wondered perhaps That some day we might be friends. Later the same voice suave and velvet Spoke from distant TV studios Recalling the events of the day In a disembodied sort of way And I thought and wondered perhaps That some day we might be friends. And later still in wood panelled Prime Ministerial anterooms The same voice gently spoke of "Oligarchies" And Chinese designs And I thought perhaps We might never be friends. But here in New York as I walked Along Madison Avenue towards Broadway That same voice spoke of ‘black sentinels’ And shared lives in Rudra Court And the echoes generated were resounding and clear And I knew and did not wonder That we had been friends all along.
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