Letters

 

Letters

Spoke the sphinx, we’ll die tonight,

and from the sun she fled,

and with my eyes, bewildered,

I glared into the heat. 

Deeply I felt a steaming wet,

seething in my sweat, determined so to write,

I nipped the paper with my quill,

and wrote a love letter to Thoughth:

From the stars,

numerically designed, I counted him,

numerically divine, my brother,

but when he died,

by tasting war, I saw,

my mother,

wail through the night.

And so she struck herself

ten blows till dead,

unable to persist,

and by some god’s insist,

she fled,

fled into the crypt.

I slept, by rosy waterfalls,

white wine and red

did spill,

sweet tasting in the cleanest streams,

so drunk

I stumbled in the pond

and found the abacchus.

My name did I reinvent,

a title mongst the known,

as writer, thinker, speaker too,

thrice great was I reborn.

But it was not I that taught me sight,

the wise words,

or the names,

For it was you,

you who wove me in the night,

graphically in space,

made my brain symmetrically designed,

inclined to revel in thought. 

And as I grew, I knew I was in love,

with you,

god of the feather quill,

the compass and the chart.

Though crashing spheres may thrash my world,

and shred me to a pulp,

for one kiss,

one little kiss,

I’d give to you all my heart. 

And then before my window flew, the Ibis bird,

who crashing in, pecked my skin,

pulled threads out of my shirt

and tore my notes to shreds. 

Standing barechest with a spear,

a king beneath my feet,

the sphinx returned, paw on my breast, licking my cheek.  

Knowledge is my gift, she said

and bit me on the neck,

and blood spewing, I pushed her off,

and struck the lady dead. 

Blind as a Theban king,

I stumbled through the halls,

inhaling the remains. 

Witness, Alexandria,

so consumed by Thoth,

your heart’s engulfed in flames!