Hunger has begun,
a craving to engulf it all.
The pace of digestion makes
it unbearable.

Perhaps a disorder of forgetting—
for when hunger knots itself tight,
no feast, no drink can satisfy.

Today, it’s diplomacy,
tomorrow, science.
Yet still,
when none of it absorbs within,
I choose literature.

To clear the numbers stuck in my throat,
I needed a glass of philosophy,
words push their way back through
a burp.

And so, to hush this hunger,
I reach for music, a lullaby in disguise.
But even then, when hunger strikes,
maps unfold beneath my starving hands,
for hunger knows no end.

At last,
I whisper to the silence of darkness:
Tomorrow, I shall feast on history!