The Impossible

Another thesis on Levinas’ Infinite Other.


 

What magnetism – the impossible. The flipside of reality.

I am fascinated by what exists apart from me, like the cold, milky galaxies – and how awe-striking, that I see those bright stars in the eyes of another, another with hands like me, lips like me, hopes and dreams and pains like me.

How could it be that you and I exist – move, breathe, are – in the same space? How did the rules of Things permit this? How have the seas not halved and the skies not raptured? How is it possible for such magnitude to fit a frail human heart? You and I are a question to the universe.

I see the tenderness of mellow twilight in you. I see the coy lapping of the shores in you. I see the invisible embrace of the wind in you. I see the crimson vein that goes on flowing with happiness and sorrow in you. You are the horizon of what I know and understand and am. You are the World’s Edge.

You are the beautiful impossible.

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Snippet Series #17: Nightmares

I’ve been looking for this for a while, and it’s purely chance that I stumbled across a copy of it.

This is the very first poem that I wrote that made sense. Everything prior to this was required by class and/or was pretty infantile, in my opinion. Literally, lines were like “The rat scurried under the hat/So that he could run away from the cat”.

I wrote this in second year high school. Some of the verses just suddenly jumped into my mind while I was sleepily listening in class, and for several days, I couldn’t shake the words out of my head. So I wrote it all down. I probably finished writing the whole thing during break time. Ever since I wrote this, my writing has been noticeably better. It’s weird.

I didn’t know what the poem was about while I was writing it – I just know that the images were powerful and honestly kind of disturbing. It was only after I had a friend read it that it was pointed out to me that it was about poverty. It’s pretty obvious when you see it now, but when I wrote it, I just saw the voiceless suffering and the cold, detached outcasting. I still remember how unreal it felt to see those images in my head, but then… this is what’s happening in the world today.

I’ve edited it a little so that it flows just a little bit better.


 

The nightmares I had as I lay

Haunt me even into the day

Rain has stopped, clouds left the sky

But tears still flow from my eye

 

The world overflows with the sun’s beam;

I am blinded by the harsh gleam

The world sounds of sweet melodies

But all I hear are cries of misery

 

They eat from a feast and drink wine

She eats the scraps they left behind

He is naked; He has no clothes

Blessed treasure are the rags they loathe

 

 

They live in mansions of grandeur

She dwells on the streets with lepers

Their children play in flowered fields

I see the bloody knife he wields

 

The biting chill is his blanket

He’d be warmer in a casket

The world sleeps on beds of roses

She sleeps with flies, dogs and corpses

 

Starved flies come to feast on his skin

Hungry worms eat him from within

She is lost in a world of black

Lying dead and cold on her back