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| Screengrab from the net. Credit where due. |
It
feels consequential. Like small talk
isn’t
small. Like the sharpening winds have brought
more
than cusp seasons. Memories of smoke.
The
varieties of ash and dust that choke throats.
We
both wear black and white. Ordinary, spare.
Her
eyes are haunted. And I instantly know
another
tower has imploded somewhere,
entire
lifetimes have telescoped in one go.
She
rises, lets me have the seat. I accept.
Going
far? No, just a couple more blocks.
Smoke
and ashes are our eyes. Not much left.
And
the texture no longer feels like small talk.
She
squares her shoulders. Adjusts her rucksack straps.
Some
things once lost can’t be pinned back on maps.
~~~
Last week was the 25th anniversary. Quarter century. Enough to bring some long range perspective.
I spent most of these 25 years in the Middle East. I was in Bahrain, at home with my infant son on the day. The baby was having his afternoon nap, I was having my afternoon coffee and TV. Awful, searing, unforgettable images. Three thousand people dead, the worst terrorist attack of all time.
The retribution was massive, massively out of proportion and affected the region I was in closely. Since 2001, the global war on terror has claimed 4.5 million lives, displaced another 38 million. And now on the anniversary, classified files have been released that show there was ample intelligence that something terrible was coming.
Twenty five years on, the world is still at war, US is still at war.
The question is - has the world been made safer? Are we ever getting peace?
