A poem by Prartho
Haven’t you been there too? Alone in the stairwell,
on the way up or down, putting up the groceries
or walking the hood… without warning the onion-
layers drop and there you are, left
with no idea of the who or what or how of you.
We’ve been told we’re on a blue-marble spiraling
in a dark & fathomless space. We’ve seen photos sent
by astronauts, satellites, and probes, but here in the stairwell
you only see sunlight on the carpet and walls. And somehow,
the mystery of your own hands, uncannily at rest – empty
as tomorrow, which has been swept away with the dust.
There seems to be one solitary knowable thing – you
are only a visitor here, where so many have passed,
are passing, will pass. Soon enough you will be gone.
Truth be told, you don’t think these things
as the paper-thin onion-skin of thought was dispersed
with the rest of it. It’s only now as you rake up
the reasonability that was scattered in that wind –
ideas that you try to cobble together – a jigsaw
puzzle of oak & bay & sycamore leaves.
(yet-unpublished)
Featured image by Stefan Steinbauer on unsplash.com
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