When I Become A Goddess

I will undress the  Globe,
Dust the map
And dump the manuscripts of history,
And erase the lines of longitude and latitude, and boundaries.
I will redistribute evenly:
Mountains and springs,
gold, petrol, climate and clouds.
Then,
I will pass my feather
Over tired faces
For white, black and yellow to melt
Into one race of apricot colour.
I will clear up tongues of languages and dialects
And melt them in my crucible
Into a white thesaurus without evil,
Purged of angry words.

Before I sit down on my throne,
I will discipline the sun’s angles and adjust the equator
And modify the rain system into justice.
My followers will applaud when I cut the tape:
Spartacus, Gorky, Guevara.

Overwhelmed by joy I stammer:
Architecture of the universe is my job!

Yet,
At the beginning of World War III
I’ll look down for a moment
And, sadly, readjust the world to its former course.