universal history
i have been writing
wrong, punctuating words
where they don't belong.
i should have tried
to find words that equate how it feels.
instead what i did, was remember: a night in the same city,
that day, two lovers echoed my words
back to me.
my metaphor should've included
lodged memories, but i failed
to find anything analogous.
to the form a poem holds,
i can never approach—
not deliberately,
not without intention.
years i’ve never seen,
cannot conceive the old age barren ahead
but i have been told, that i have.
this is what comes through
tired, in my lack of imagination.
i struggle even now, to imagine anything
brute and powerful, something natural
resembling the sensation of sudden memory—
captive of everything in only
one moment. there, you remember
the agreeance shared
by all lovers, or a curse
whispered another night,
within an embrace. i wished him,
fated him, with insomnia.
so i can manifest, as the anguish and fatigue
that sleepless eyes court. it turns into
desire to sleep, only here where i am.
cruelty i cannot abandon, can it
find itself lodged too? between this memory
and the next, because this, could go on indefinitely.
i remember now yesterday’s discovery, a phrase
equating magnitudes to language, as mathematics does.
we are composed of limits, you and me
especially, but we could be
tending towards infinity.
i can lay, still as now
waiting for them, all the memories lodged
in unknown crevices,
too many of which
have selfishly replaced, ones
that aren't yours.
i was certain of inspiration that night
only days before you left
the second time, because love has always
claimed cruelty with more vigour than war.
which is why, meaning
can alternate forever,
between what is truth and isn't.
between us i can guarantee
such transcendance, endlesss,
same as some in the past, beckoning
future affairs as well, it is that universal.
in my river, with a flow akin
to skin and this obsession,
you can step in twice
defying laws of transience, and i
will remain the same.
Comments
Post a Comment