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Extract: 23 March 2020, The Shrouds Are Piling Up in Cardboard Boxes The shrouds are piling up in cardboard boxes by the bathroom door
They’re the only hospital linen that isn’t washed after use
Like everything else these days they come in plastic, ready to meet death like factory-baked goods, wrapped and straight to the void
You wonder who makes the shrouds what cold machine sews and packs them ready to cover any of the bodies that lie in the morgue
For my shroud I’d like my mother’s hands, to die before her and to lie once more in her womb, to be a little girl again and have no idea that in hospital laundries death piles up in cardboard boxes next to the toilets.
(From Laundry Service by Begoña M Rueda, published by Hiperión) ▲ Collapse
Tom in London
expressisverbis
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Baran Keki Türkiye Local time: 21:43 Member English to Turkish
Kipling
Jul 28, 2021
I don't care much for poetry, but I just came across this while researching for something completely different. It kind of puts things into perspective regarding education costs if you happen to be an imperialist in some third world sh*thole carrying the 'white man's burden'. Very moving indeed...
Arithmetic on the Frontier
A GREAT and glorious thing it is To learn, for seven years or so, The Lord knows what of that and this, Ere reckoned fit to face t... See more
I don't care much for poetry, but I just came across this while researching for something completely different. It kind of puts things into perspective regarding education costs if you happen to be an imperialist in some third world sh*thole carrying the 'white man's burden'. Very moving indeed...
Arithmetic on the Frontier
A GREAT and glorious thing it is To learn, for seven years or so, The Lord knows what of that and this, Ere reckoned fit to face the foe - The flying bullet down the Pass, That whistles clear: "All flesh is grass."
Three hundred pounds per annum spent On making brain and body meeter For all the murderous intent Comprised in "villainous saltpetre". And after?- Ask the Yusufzaies What comes of all our 'ologies.
A scrimmage in a Border Station- A canter down some dark defile Two thousand pounds of education Drops to a ten-rupee jezail. The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride, Shot like a rabbit in a ride!
No proposition Euclid wrote No formulae the text-books know, Will turn the bullet from your coat, Or ward the tulwar's downward blow. Strike hard who cares - shoot straight who can The odds are on the cheaper man.
One sword-knot stolen from the camp Will pay for all the school expenses Of any Kurrum Valley scamp Who knows no word of moods and tenses, But, being blessed with perfect sight, Picks off our messmates left and right.
With home-bred hordes the hillsides teem. The troopships bring us one by one, At vast expense of time and steam, To slay Afridis where they run. The "captives of our bow and spear" Are cheap, alas! as we are dear. ▲ Collapse
P.L.F. Persio
expressisverbis
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