There are voices calling out…
Many and varied with each their own agenda.
All calling for attention-
for action- for reaction.
The voices should challenge and stir,
but somehow we have been numbed,
not deafened but anesthetized.
Even though retreat had been called,
the voices can nevertheless be heard,
luring us to the rocks and we, bound to the mast,
are singed in their fiery breath and
writhe beneath the ropes of our impotence
made mad by our inaction
wondering if the wax,
meant for the ears of Odysseus’ crew,
has, instead, filled our mouths.
And what will be the call when we are the ones
still bound but being devoured,
locked in the claws of Harpies, of vultures,
of the voices…