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.