The Journey
by Jeeshan Patwari
Music by Paaliaq
Iskandar Henkel ponders this journey,
The decision to leave Earth behind him.
To further his knowledge of botany,
For all to know, this is more than a whim.
Could this voyage be akin to Darwin's Beagle?
His glory or zealous discoveries?
It is the year twenty-one thirty-one,
The silver rocket ship stands proud and tall.
Hovering above, a lone white sea-gull,
Below, voyagers gather under marquees,
Is this the day Henkel meets a Martian?
Rosemary Godin views her fingers,
Ring missing left, right holding cheap champagne,
Dust devils skirt the rocket like feathers,
Chink clink spa-dink, the crystal glasses strain.
Her future awaits on the red planet,
To teach theorems, hungry students anew.
A slow smile spreads, Godin's full red lips part,
In Henkel her desire, found love once lost.
This celebration, this bizarre banquet,
Sending some with power, others with virtue,
To colonize red land, to gain a heart.
Sotheby Ashton blesses the star-ship,
Standing amongst the passengers, regal.
In his pilgrimage will he know hardship?
The chance to rekindle his faith's holy temple.
Holding prayer beads, wearing a black brown smock,
A stark contrast to this colour parade.
Comparable to missionaries of old;
Except, without resolve and obeisance.
All like Godin, What Ashton wants,
A promise more than gold.
Captain Emily Strauss recalls the first flight
That began it all; seems long ago.
A rookie wanting to prove prowess and thirst,
To be her generation's best hero.
These colonists - the spirit of Eden,
Fresh beginning, away from this drowned Earth;
Defying gravity in man's chrome Goliath,
Piloting finale to a red new world.
Her mood radiant, her uniform sanguine,
Her secret is safe, in months to give birth,
This culmination has reached its zenith.
Jarrod Takagi walks amidst the crowd,
Mixtures plenty, food laid of all kinds,
Mixture aplenty, full of passions vowed,
Sampling the voyagers - their hearts and their minds.
Henkel dreams of fame, Godin lusts for love,
Ashton falls from grace and Strauss, space mother.
'Mortals don't change, like the taste of okra;
I am 300 years dead,' Jarrod the ghost whispers,
Hanging on, neither below or above.
The signal given; the people to enter,
'Well, I guess I better board.
Sayonara'.
