In my room, I talk
to my invisible guests:
they do not argue, but wait
Till I am exhausted,
then they slip away
with inscrutable faces.
I lack the means to change
their amiable ways,
although I love their gods.
It’s the language really
separates, whatever else
is shared. On the other hand,
Everyone understands
Mother Theresa; her guests
die visibly in her arms.
It’s not the mythology
or the marriage customs
that you need to know,
It’s the will to pass
through the eye of a needle
to self-forgetfulness.
The guests depart, dissatisfied;
they will never give up
their mantras, old or new.
And you, uneasy
orphan of their racial
memories, merely
Polish up your alien
techniques of observation,
while the city burns.
(Nissim Ezekiel)
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Based on Topics: God Poems, Faces Poems, Cities Poems, Memory Poems, Guest Poems, Language Poems, Marriage PoemsBased on Keywords: dissatisfied, theresa, mythology, mantras, self-forgetfulness, techniques