Published on 12:00 AM, July 28, 2018


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.