A hundred questions in the room
And on display, the chosen few:
How can we turn the deadly tide?
And will we spurn our toxic pride?
But in my head, the only clue:
I wonder, did she feel it too?
A hundred questions for our time
Some speak in sculpture, some in rhyme:
How can we change our fate most dire?
And can an artist still inspire?
But more intriguing and sublime:
How does she make her canvass shine?
A hundred questions from the floor
Like scattered gold upon the shore:
How fierce the urgency of now?
And can we turn our swords to plough?
But all that I could plot and draw:
Could we have met somewhere before?
A hundred questions in the air
Some speak of hope, some of despair:
What if our waking is too late?
And what’s the dream we can create?
Some questions I could never share:
But did she glimpse enough to care?
A hundred questions from the fray
Like puzzling games for us to play:How poetry and science can meet?
And will our planet overheat?
Yet colouring my maze of grey:
I hope we meet again some day?
— Wayne Visser