To Oedipus, Future King

Oedipus and Sphinx by Gustave Moreau

Oedipus and Sphinx by Gustave Moreau

Everything is only an expression
of what we really want to say.
You
speak of digits that I could barely understand.
And I
respond in letters that barely mean anything.
When transposed, these conversations turn into
strings of equations
where a slight invariable
would mean an automatic 404.
We try our hardest not to tip the balance…
Or at least I do.
But does this change something? anything?
In the long run, the figures will run on its own
Like irrational numbers.
No process could stop them
From adding more and more complications at the end of its line.
But are you still there?
I don’t know whose equation is this, by the way.
I don’t know if you are just one of the many numbers that will pass my way,
Or if I am just an unknown variable that you might encounter
As you search for THE answer.
I don’t even know if this is the answer that you are looking for
Or if this confuddles your worksheet more.
I couldn’t speak in Math
the way your ancestors taught you to.
Hence, I couldn’t be objective. I couldn’t be systematic.
I couldn’t be rational.
I am only at my best- a riddle. A line from one of the many ambiguous poems
You’ve probably given up on.
A sphinx thrown into your way
Who would probably let you pass.

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