To An Unborne Grand child
Poem by: donkylemore
Let me gather all the quintessential facts
And put in them a plastic bag
And hermetically seal them lest they change
Before they turn out the light
Let me gather all the fundamental truths
And put these an air tight casket
Lest their fundamentalism should
Somehow , yet fail before you are borne
And here in this codex is contained for you
All the cartography ever created , are packed so infinitely tight
And I’ll put them in overlapping lines
All the roads of the earth thus built , are here for you to unravel at your will.
But what I cannot gift to you
Is the clutter of thoughts that
Flicker along the neurons of that mind I know; the one I live in.
And all the minds I think I know ; but know I cant.
Because what to me is the colour orange
To them could be an elephant in a pin striped suit
And my orange to them - a ballet dancer on a pair of stilts
And the pictures we describe in words to one another
We’ll never know how that picture is fabricated , synthesised in the others mind.
We only agree that the words suffice
To identify the picture
And this is where subjectivity and objectivity
Engage in discourse - the discourse of the deaf and dumb
That dialogue of that desperate diabolical necessity
So take the narrative of my fantasies
Take them with all my love
Give only in return someday
An assembled montage of yours
And I only ask of you to share with me the aftershock
Of that seismic quake which ; the echo of your inner conflict
Your very own Big Bang
Let another generation peel apart the cyper- envelope ;
And let them look into the potential of your thought
Let them open my dusty casket
Unfold my codex, and all I ask
Is that your inner chuckle , be solemn, perhaps
© Copyright 2017 donkylemore. All rights reserved.