People's tragedy

Christ Keivom

“In my end is my beginning,” -T. S. Eliot

Only the dead know what the living don’t.
If you left this world what world would
You leave for? Tell me.
No one asks me, but the best reason
To write is that there’s no reason to live.
And words preserve us like anniversaries.
What is the name of that water inside us
Which departs forever and forever returns
Where we put our hand
And experience eternity-
You are like me, you too owe, death
A life and when seeing you on the street
(and not in a bedroom)
Reminds me in the particular there’s the universal;
How we’re full of nothing,
As the world is full of people
And I would like to say something
To everyone I see: Live on.
As the death of someone we love more than
Ourselves is lowered into the earth.
People’s tragedy. People’s tragedy.
The sun just before setting.
One last call at midnight.
A handful of white tufts floating in the air.
The few cities in the world where it’s raining
As I write this. As you read this.
As I re-write this aloud and somewhere
Whatever is lost, it does not return.
People’s tragedy. People’s tragedy.
How I’m not sure if I should tell you
What follows next is- something
No one saw it coming: it will
Be someone’s birthday when the world ends.