The reflection holds power over the actual. Breaking the habit is more about what is given back to you than about what you do to destroy it. The luckiest thing that would happen to you is finding that person who would reflect a different image and thus give you the chance to break away.
The first time is never the last time
turning and cycling,
a revolving door fitted in with mirrors,
the same event reoccurring in rapid successions of
mobile static reflections.
A bite from a well known serpent
its fangs dripping with well-scented poison,
its essence coursing through varicose tunnels
searing away defences of loyalty and
depositing layers of shame and disgust
all the while retaining pleasure and gratification
in the bowels.
The bite repeats itself
The same serpent, only a different hue
Slithering through on the paths well worn
Sinking fangs into gaping, scarified
Watched by eyes that wait in earnest anticipation,
failing to flee, while filled with the
inane conviction of being able to resist.
The well-scented poison seeps into the stream
and begins work on tunnels no longer resisting.
Why does this always happen?
Does one learn from history?
What is the point?
The reason to learn is the axiom ‘history repeats in cycles’
Axiomatic phrase suggesting no need to bother.
For if history repeats itself, why bother studying it?
For nothing will change.
It shall be as it would. As it has. As it will.
The doors swing and in each frame;
liar, cheat, fraud, thief.
“You will never change,” the voice whispers.
But pick a pen. Take a pew.
Hold on a minute.
‘a different hue to each snake.’
The constant pattern is not set in stone!
History repeats but in permutations and combinations that
flip the particulars.
The doors revolve and in each frame;
the same, the same, the same, the same.
Reflections turning and changing, yet a single
Constant but changing.
Within the pattern is change.
‘a change to the reflection would change the object’?
The reflection is not simply that which is seen,
it is that which is given back.
If the reflections remain the same,
the object would remain,
enthralled by the cycle of unending sameness,
trapped in history and the cycles of the revolving door.
The serpent slithers close.
The same snake, but a different hue.
Ahead the wounds wait, gaping holes,
holes that lead to worn tunnels,
seared by burning poison.
The serpent slithers off the well worn paths.
The eyes that watch in anticipation, blink.
The door begins another cycle.
Reflections are cut off, one and again, and again
Not the same. The pattern has been broken.
– Re 02.
- I want to add something corny like “There is no rhyme to this, only reason”, but that is how I always spoil the solemnity of my most serious moments and end up with comments like “Christopher, be serious for once”. So, I will not say it.
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GOD bless Nigerians.