Focus vs Blur

To travel the trains of the ‘70s in China

Was to experience the present esthetic paradox

Where today’s noting of someone else’s tragedy

Often strikes the casual traveler

With the feeling of privileged happiness.

In yesteryears…

The sight of squatter’s shacks

Destitute children and hairless dogs running

Atop a village dump

The youngest with smiles of inclusion

Hopping after them on one crutch

Making this traveler pause.

Then…

The moment of entering a tunnel

The ancient wheels ground my ill-chosen thoughts

Like the crusher of rocks into gravel

Rendering conscience into a raw sand-like essence

Of compassion.

How dare I…

Haunted my thoughts while emerging from the tunnel

Passing slowly the emerald green of a sublime lake

And a cloudless sky of blue.

The lakeside resort ahead

With imported palm trees

Like sentries drawing boundaries

In the sands of whiteness

Was never seen by the scavenging children left behind.

A woman in all white bathing attire

Bedecked by a wide brimmed luxury hat

Waved.

Then…

Spread her arms

As if the sands were her possession

For that moment.

As if she knew each one of us

Facial gestures suggested regret

As if knowing we were about to enter

Another tunnel

Whose exit would reveal another distraught village

Of hunger and sadness.

To know that the route has been replaced with bullet trains

Is to know my remembered focus of the past and its imprint

Is now experienced as but a blur by the new century of passengers.

Perhaps life is speeding up in order

To avoid reality

But should it?