me and my grandfather, buying candles to place on graves of family members, discussing topics hushed for the public, two hyenas of the graveyard... my grandmother frequenting the grave of her mother and father and nanny like frequenting an armchair... i've heard her cry... like a joy division song: an egyptian will tear us apart! but me and my grandfather the two hyenas of the graveyard - a friendly ghost of resurrected israel, suddenly everyone in western europe starts wearing an arabian scarf in the "cool" and "educated" sector of society of a bachelor's degree... vocal terrorists who only experienced the Blitz but not the holocaust; yes, domesticated cats returned into the hands of the wild by nesting in the graveyard... oh the scent of smoked wood of early winter of Poland in the air, winter in siberia, an air of such cold as if climbing Mt. Everest, walking on the frozen tundra plateau.*

why do old men suddenly
get a monopoly on guidance?
why can't youth guide youth?
the old are guided by an automaton
of death, no one guides them
but suddenly everyone younger than
them frightens them!
why take advice from the old
who's sole concern is to die in
their sleep?
if we try transcendental passing
of knowledge we'll be left
with a 100m sprinter in a zimmer-frame
running faster than the the most
agile athlete... why take advice
from the old farts? are we in this
together or not?
are we a wave born in the 1980s
or just cripples of splintered appreciations
of past and future generations?
well, i can't appreciate the culture of youth,
younger than me... but i also can't
appreciate the wisdom of the elderly...
and that's because the culture of youth
is without experience worth a maxim...
while old age has too many maxims...
while we're craving a narration to serve
like a duty to prayer, although lessened
in terms of necessitated gesticulation
for dumb-struck rather than lighting-struck
realisation...
while old men start being avatars of death
and actors of past life,
the youth start to become competitive
and rude and un-guiding...
clench my teeth at the matter...
the young become passports of sight into lives
you sometimes wished you led
but eventually realise by their example
you haven't; and then clap... clap... clap...
you begin clapping... as a cursor to ensure they
do not conjure up an encore.