to the poet

you spin with the rings of Saturn
and twirl around the stars when they combust
you catch wisps of their memories
as they die having witnessed centuries
and use them greedily as you
scribble your poems, unconscious of yourself.

-Moniba.

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4 thoughts on “to the poet

  1. “Unconscious of yourself”. The only way to live.

    I’m reminded of Thoreau’s My life has been the poem.

    “My life has been the poem I would have writ,
    But I could not both live and utter it.”

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