The title of this piece is a line from Mahmoud Darwish’s poem, A Noun Sentence.
I was especially drawn to the second half of the poem:
for the present tense a foothold for walking behind me
or ahead of me, barefoot. Where
is my second road to the staircase of expanse? Where
is futility? Where is the road to the road?
And where are we, the marching on the footpath of the present
tense, where are we? Our talk a predicate
and a subject before the sea, and the elusive foam
of speech the dots on the letters,
wishing for the present tense a foothold
on the pavement …
These words cause me to ponder where we are headed during this time of futility, growing hatred and unrest. I am wandering (perhaps aimlessly) in my own desert land looking for the road to the road that can lead us in a new direction.