
The Rising of Eve
In those seconds of loss, a mere blink
The second it takes to dispatch hope, and
hope lost flashes before my eyes
Those seconds between life and rebirth
between the merlons of memory and contemplation
Where I revise the rough draft — drawn upon my philosophy
In the depths of despair’s hilarity, where my words are speechless
and my mother tongue becomes a second class citizen
barbaric, antipodal, held in the bastilles of abstentia
I reason with the haunting of hope — revisited
I ambush the ghost — of a smile
I box it and Pandora rings — music escapes the pithos
breaking the lid — I babel on the notes composing the rising of Eve, déshabille
I robe my state of undress by the skin of my teeth,
Adam, loquacious, divides the beautiful lie, and Eve unshackled, a polyglot
scribes me the language, of — the rites to,
soliloquy, raison d’être, the edge of the promised land
somewhere, a blink — “east of the sun and west of the moon”.
Copyright ©. R Tsambounieri Talarantas. March 2020. All Rights Reserved.
