When I began studying law at McGill University two years ago, I was told to expect an arid field. Instead, I discovered
a fertile soil of inspiration that branched off in many other disciplines and crafts. One of them was poetry.
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While not directly related to law, these poems were written at my study desk during the intense period of preparation for final exams. They stand for the short instances when I slipped from the formal study of law into the elation, the wondering, and sometimes, the fleeting disappointment that comes with discovering a new universe and the people that inhabit it.
Dreaded hour of the night
I dread the hour of the night
When laden with a full day’s toll,
My drooping eyelids give up fight
The loose leaves from my fingers fall.
How dreadful sleep then seems to me
How vile to choke between the sheets
The flame of old, while slovenly
The present shirks the mind’s great feast.
Awake, would I burn long enough
To reach old Chronos in his curse
And blazing on his cenotaph
To meld Aidion with the Earth,
No longer would the dread then find
My drooping eyelids as they fall
Over these tired lines I write
To bargain for a full day’s toll.
I ride the steam horn
I ride the steam horn of a locomotive
Driving thought on rails
Into tunnels
Slicing mountains
In thin air the mist evaporates
The whistle slips an answer
In mind’s pocket.
The day I’ll die
The day I’ll die,
Lead, heavy and grey,
May fall from the sky
My fingers may remember
Pinching this shoulder blade
And finding nothing
Other than ground
Heavy and brown
Trickling slow
On the reason for ratio.
The day I’ll die
Squares and circles
Incoherent and helpless
May unravel their charm
And throw down a line
From a bridge to a star.
The day I’ll die
My fingers may try
To shake off the mass
Of unmoving off
One last frosty grin
I may feel like an ant
Thrashing air on her back
Who never learned to walk
Who never wished to stay
Who lived only in may.
