I said I’d try to write something about today’s terrorist attacks in London, but words fail me. What is there to say about the unspeakable horror of ripping lives apart in the name of making a point? And what point has been made, other than people can be so terribly inhuman?
I don’t know, and I can’t say, and yes, words fail me, so I give you these, from Pablo Neruda:
WE ARE WAITING
There are days that haven’t arrived yet,
that are being made
like bread or chairs or a product
there are factories of days to come:
they exist, craftsmen of the soul
who raise and weigh and prepare
certain bitter or beautiful days
that arrive suddenly at the door
to reward us with an orange
or to instantly murder us.