Saturday, April 23, 2011

Serj Tankian's new poetry book 'Glaring Through Obilvion' purchased. This is my favourite poem from it.

'SOON'

When is soon?
Is soon after noon
when the Sun pours itself on to all, in confidence?

Is soon after the Moon has fallen from the sky like a tragedy marked by magic?

Is it tomorrow, next week, or next month?

Was soon in the past?
Was your past soon gone?

This feeling of the elastic soon washing over me like a monsoon to the tune of absolute ruin, but wait!
The inverse of soon is noose.
Thereby, we are hung in time, by time awaiting soon before noon,
after June, barely making it over the grainy, trapped sand dune,
flowing always downward.

Who will turn it all over so that it may start again?
Can soon come again?
Was it ever really here?

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