The way, the beginning

We desire beginnings: for the new question 

And answer 

To love, that gives us ourselves. The look of your eyes, 

The rim of its opaque glass

Behind it—


I saw those endless hills perennially filled 

With birdsong. And the river Lethe in 

Dante’s inferno from which I drank 

To erase the memory of sin. 


Last night, I dreamt of being lost in time 

And for a moment, I was the hand 

Of a watch on the hand of a woman 

I love; 


I dreamt to run away, to find my way 

And for an instant, I found your eye 

Pulling the imaginary line that divides the earth:

That meridian on the other side 

Where the shadows of the night 

Rises to meet the morning Sun. 


There was something to be found in that dream.

A way. A beginning. 

An epiphany that not all things are loved 

But the seed of all things is sowed 

With love.

(The beginning is in the seed) 


Sometimes, the way is a fiery ring 

Through which the circus animal 

Leaps into a feral world 

Of new beginnings—


And the past takes wing, a worm in

Its beak, cuts across the noiseless air 

Towards where—

I am gazing at you walk by

In dark shapes of continual goodbyes.

There was something to be found in that dream. 

I forgot.


What was it trying to tell me, here?

That I loved you, maybe,

That I stopped.  

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Christ Keivom (he/him), is currently pursuing his master's in English Literature from Delhi University. His work has previously appeared in Novus Literary Arts Journal, Mulberry Literary, Monograph Mag,  Farside Review, Spotlong Review, Native Skin to name a few.
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