past

The Second guessing

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold”
– W. B. Yeats

You omit
before you write yourself
lest you become
the colossal weight of
what lies under the ocean, that be,
the weathered face of the mad king,
the woman who had jumped off the roof,
a past lover of your lover,
a past-lover.

The ocean is no man’s alone
and yet it floods us all
with it’s seismic wreck,
spinning:
it batters old and new structures alike,
it eats men alive
and leave them language.



Elegy to the past

38/100
100 poems/52 weeks challenge’ 2018

Image result for door surreal magritte
Art by Magritte 


I put on a black coat
But the rain wouldn’t fall,
What is buried doesn’t stay buried
And sometimes, cannot be buried at all.
                      
The time has ceased as it used to be,
And now it ticks like a knock
upon my door,
I pick up its objects
But I do not mourn the past,
I only insist upon the question
Of, will I be what I am now
Tomorrow?
 
Now shoot the time
let it bleed without reward,
Mourn the flux
But do not mourn the past.