No Answer
I am enslaved by inaccessible promises
and my mind’s matter just as the moon — a
distant island of sophistical affluence.
Promises that weigh on my mind, like a corpse in a tomb,
and like that of a dethroned king who yet covets the objects of their wealth,
rather than the loss of his subjects.
I’ve gone and returned from nowhere; countless days had led me —
and there in the oceans of choice
I met with the grandeur of loneliness.
I knocked on the revolving door of your dreams — No Answer
And my soul of a wise matter, returned to the flourish of the pen,
the obscure nudity of the world —
the “painting of the fourth bridge”, decorating the view — as I,
loping between the pearls lost by the gods,
I endure only here —
on the surrogate fringes — and the litmus of paper.
**
R Tsambounieri Talarantas 2023,
All Rights Reserved.
