Unnamed Biography

I am transfixed
Like a spider
At the epicentre
Of the web of a bunch
Of beaten moments,
Untouched by the reality
Of time and space.

Quite often
I find it funny
And deeply ridiculous
To unknot and tidy
The same beaten moments
That lie like a heap
Of tangled threads
With invisible beginnings
And no visible ends.

I know not why
A statuesque calmness
Has rendered me speechless
On a ruined panorama
Of succeeding desire and despair.

I have been treading
Through the time present
With a rhythmic synergy,
By elbowing aside
The lived past
Into the black and white pages
Of an unnamed biography.