280 but First

The poem two hundred eighty
but the first, to pen down your sunlight
messages and merge them with bold ink
into my own loving words.

Shall you be the companion
of my unfinished but abandoned poetry,
or the savior of my crumbling literature-world
of wretchedness and love-
love.

You wormed silently like a spirit into
the secret depths of my soul,
have you captivated me with magic,
or have you awestruck me with authenticity-

of that, I am not sure.

For you are the only magic, in this
world of science that has burdened
me with facts and oxygen,
yet you are the only chest-lightening truth
in this world of lies that has chocked
me with soil powder.

280 poems but the first,
to finally find its ultimate possessor,
a poem that perhaps will not be finished,
but shall never be forsaken.

by: Rania Moallem