Genesis Poem by Jayanta Mahapatra

The apple sits on an old examination bed
in the world's foyer.

The stony silence of the men staring hard
crosses the line of sanity.

Why do I think of this,
drowning in the depth of lost time?

Maybe nothing came from anything,
a long drawn-out yawn from nowhere.

Maybe my mother's soul set the apple free,
making it roll down the road.

And I look for the same sense of stillness,
hoping it will heal me.

The myth has its head stuck in the fork of a tree.
And the spirits of knowledge won't let it pass.