September 11 (1921 – 2015)

Dear Grandfather!

It has been almost a century since you passed away. In the 39 years that you lived, you dedicated your life to our country and to our people. You opened their eyes, showed them the light of knowledge, and set a new path for a great future for the land. What were your goals? What were your dreams for the country? What were the principles that you lived by? What were your ideals, that you set for our people? What was the culture that you cherished and taught to the men and women of this country?

THE SPIRIT MOVES . . . It has been moving through TIME all these nearly-hundred years .   .   . watching the Earth, and especially, watching his Ancient Land with unbounded love and compassion.

THE SPIRIT MOVES . . .  to his birth place, where a mature woman, looking at the sky, is talking to him.

THE SPIRIT WONDERS .   .   . “What does this mean? Was I not clear enough in explaining all these issues when I wrote about them? . . . Did I neglect my country? Did I leave my country and the world in too much haste?”

HE PONDERS . . .

“ ‘Revolution of tenderness’ – A voice is heard from the final mass in Cuba in the City of Santiago. The Pope’s call to the people.”

“Thousands of people are moving across Southern Europe as they flee war and persecution in Africa and the Middle East.”

.  .  . There are still people who do not have a land for themselves; there is still poverty, hatred, sickness, and death . . .

More . . . and .  .  . more. . .

“Yes, I still have much more work to do.”

The Spirit comes down to Earth, to the village of Ettayapuram, to communicate to the woman who is his own flesh and blood – desperately talking to the poet.

Suddenly . . .

Lightning flashes . . . Dark clouds gather, and the deafening noise of the thunder rolling above is heard.

Rain pours down on the dry land of the village of Ettayapuram.

The woman’s heart is filled with wonder, with a beautiful feeling that she has never before.

Grandfather! Is this you? Are you trying to communicate with me?

“Is Poetry a powerful enough tool to accomplish my goals?”

The Sprit’s moving finger begins to write . . .