The Gate

Vertical and horizontal beams merge and meld, they repeat in pattern, space narrowing disappearing into point of perspective; wrought Fe iron gate creaking theoretically closed to prevent the wreaking havoc from entering, open sewers reeking. Invisible hand pushing it as it swings back magnetically. The gravitational pull of its weight becoming a natural guillotine for fingers – fingers floating dripping twinkling into the cosmos towards their original birthplace.

Ferrum atomic number 26, the most common element on Earth, consisting much of the outer and inner core of our planet, can be melted, molded and modeled into utensils or bangles for aspiring angels. But the complex process of transforming this element can be found in a simple cauldron in which beer stew is bubbling ready to satisfy a hungry stomach.

Yet it also flows in our bodies and when the skin is slit, iron rich blood bleeds profusively into casing — blood pudding in the offing. Is the Iron Lady with the unfeeling metal heart resting in peace? While the Tinman sheds metal tears that tink, think down his tinny body. A cold element, malleable nevertheless to the human hands.

Why bother fostering any sense of empathy as human values are diminishing in a gray calculating world of algorithms. Constructing more iron factories would be anathema to modern theocracy. Let’s close surreptitiously the gate of our conscience in aeternum.

– Rosana Sam

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