Oblivion Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

I formed your legs vigorous so that you catch up History,
hands capable to register her, to care of her with a lancet.
Oblivion gives you a knife to mutilate hands, feet, the tongue
I created for you to talk Greek; you sank in moving sands,
Inconsiderate and speechless in the whirlpool of your codes.

You leave the doors of museums open for ghosts to invade,
for bats to dispel the owl of Stoa of the sage, for moths
to crunch the papyrus, for vitriol to make marbles decayed.

It’s hard for me to kidnap you from such oblivion, to teach again
that the virtue deserves a war, also hard and bitter experiences.

What’s the value of statues you, under charms, erect in squares?
Oblivion prevents you to shape a statue of virtue in the soul,
to be a humble fisherman of love and talk a hundred languages.
It pushes you to prefer Juliet and throw Antigone in the cave,
to neglect the Figure of Sophocles for a figurine of Shakespeare.

I can’t imagine you as Makrighiannis and be affected by oblivion.
For you say 'I' instead of 'Us' and choose discord than concord.
What heritage of History you would leave for us to discover?
Oblivion retains you as a child, in all life. Strange! If, like an infant,
you move on all fours, in the garden of History and step on
the flowers, then, the more you squeeze them the more
they offer you aroma to regain the truth, by default of oblivion.


© JosephJosephides