I taught him English.
He spoke of mirrors and empty glasses,
Things he had always wanted to break
Like promises and relationships.
Ours had no beginnings,
Neither endings.
We shall be contented,
Even though we can never write in the future tense
Nor in the past.
The serpent bites its tail
In a cosmos caught in angled revolutions.
How many verbs of immobilisation do I have to use?
The sands of time flow like blood,
Burying us in multiple narratives and divided visions.
The ancient tale tells nothing in its existential destiny.
Adam gave God a reason to live and have his being,
Eve was dead right from the beginning.
Time metaphors or mysterious rhymes,
We understand nothing.
Not knowing is a bliss
Yet when we don’t pursue,
Truth or otherwise,
Some things are lost into an eternity
That even Time cannot recover.
We can hold on to nothing.
He hates writing in the present tense.
For him, living is a thing lodged in the past.
One day, he threw a glass into the mirror
The ground was strewn with books, broken glass and a bruised psyche.
I walked the frail memories of estranged fellowship,
Picking up fragments of our separated ribs,
Yet I could not reach him.
Time spelt disparity,
An anti-clockwise phantasm,
The sea of glass and drowned destinations
Stood between us.
No spoken word (within a word) this time.
Genesis and other myths
Formed the beginning
And the end of every human history.
We await a future time that will never come.