Say back to me

Philosophy, Books and Movies

Friday, November 14, 2025 • Loading...

 Author's Note

This poem draws from Egyptian mythology—particularly the story of Isis and Osiris—to explore themes of longing, reconstruction, and the labyrinthine nature of the human heart.

I want to write something— not words, but echoes, not sentences, but spells. Something clear like moonlight spilling over pyramids— something pure like the untouched silence between two lovers who never dared to speak. I call you the way Isis called Osiris, piece by piece, soul by soul, believing that even the dead can return if love is stubborn enough. My longing is an obelisk— tall, ancient, carved with secrets time has no right to erase. Say back to me, love. Say back to my bones, my breath, my quiet madness. Come back to my soul like the Nile returns to its banks, like stars return to the night when the sun finally admits defeat. Oh, but this heart— this closed kingdom— it guards itself like a forgotten tomb. It fears plunder. It fears discovery. And yet— it wants to be found. When I close my eyes, I see you. A constellation. A crown. A whisper. When I open my ears, I hear you— soft as temple dust, loud as a prophecy no one understands. And the truth? No, it isn't simple. It coils like a serpent, circles like eternity, burns like sand touched by sun and memory. I am intricate— a labyrinth, a riddle, a hymn not meant for just anyone. But if you speak my name with the gentleness of dawn and the certainty of fate— perhaps, just perhaps— I will open, like a sealed sarcophagus finally ready to release its ancient, trembling treasure. And in that moment, my love— the universe will remember what longing was made for.I want to write something—

not words, but echoes, not sentences, but spells. Something clear like moonlight spilling over pyramids— something pure like the untouched silence between two lovers who never dared to speak. I call you the way Isis called Osiris, piece by piece, soul by soul, believing that even the dead can return if love is stubborn enough. My longing is an obelisk— tall, ancient, carved with secrets time has no right to erase. Say back to me, love. Say back to my bones, my breath, my quiet madness. Come back to my soul like the Nile returns to its banks, like stars return to the night when the sun finally admits defeat. Oh, but this heart— this closed kingdom— it guards itself like a forgotten tomb. It fears plunder. It fears discovery. And yet— it wants to be found. When I close my eyes, I see you. A constellation. A crown. A whisper. When I open my ears, I hear you— soft as temple dust, loud as a prophecy no one understands. And the truth? No, it isn't simple. It coils like a serpent, circles like eternity, burns like sand touched by sun and memory. I am intricate— a labyrinth, a riddle, a hymn not meant for just anyone. But if you speak my name with the gentleness of dawn and the certainty of fate— perhaps, just perhaps— I will open, like a sealed sarcophagus finally ready to release its ancient, trembling treasure. And in that moment, my love— the universe will remember what longing was made for.

I want to write something— not words, but echoes, not sentences, but spells. Something clear like moonlight spilling over pyramids— something pure like the untouched silence between two lovers who never dared to speak. I call you the way Isis called Osiris, piece by piece, soul by soul, believing that even the dead can return if love is stubborn enough. My longing is an obelisk— tall, ancient, carved with secrets time has no right to erase. Say back to me, love. Say back to my bones, my breath, my quiet madness. Come back to my soul like the Nile returns to its banks, like stars return to the night when the sun finally admits defeat. Oh, but this heart— this closed kingdom— it guards itself like a forgotten tomb. It fears plunder. It fears discovery. And yet— it wants to be found. When I close my eyes, I see you. A constellation. A crown. A whisper. When I open my ears, I hear you— soft as temple dust, loud as a prophecy no one understands. And the truth? No, it isn't simple. It coils like a serpent, circles like eternity, burns like sand touched by sun and memory. I am intricate— a labyrinth, a riddle, a hymn not meant for just anyone. But if you speak my name with the gentleness of dawn and the certainty of fate— perhaps, just perhaps— I will open, like a sealed sarcophagus finally ready to release its ancient, trembling treasure. And in that moment, my love— the universe will remember what longing was made for.