The Other Half
The inkwell is trembling
There is the smooth rise and fall of memories
The hesitant fingers wrap the quill
The words come alive on paper
Is the scheme of life completeness of whole?
Thoughts cast back
Let us sit in dusk to remember
It says
Like others
There will never be this moment again
The shades of memories are deep and complex
Like transience of life
They pass without the permission of your mind
All you can do is steal half a story
Weave characters
Give them the truths
The other half is a littérateur's calligraphy
On life's scroll
I know
My pen is rough-edged
My thoughts rusty
Each conversation a far-off sound
Every presence a blurred vision
Yet my words are attentive
To the imperfections of time
The motif of a composer
To conquer the impermanence
That indistinct existence
Of the whole
I lived there
In that distant unknown
The truth is, thoughts asserted
In life's oeuvre
The arrangements
May be segmented
But in all
You were never incomplete
And yet, I was
I am
Ainon N. is a poet, writer, and critic. She writes from Chicago, USA.
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