They say your heart aches.
Mine doesn’t. My back does.
There is an uncomfortable feeling in my spine.
It doesn’t hurt, exactly, I just know it is there every second.
Tears occasionally leak from my eyes, like pus from a wound.
They have no meaning and bring no relief.
My mind is desperately searching for something:
words, feelings, escape –
but there is nothing there.
Just a body:
stupid,
mute,
incomprehensible.
Experience unmitigated,
voiceless scream,
feeling that has no name:
not sadness,
not pain,
not anger –
nothing eating at my bones,
squeezing my tear-ducts,
stripping off words,
exposing the emptiness inside and out.
My thoughts go into familiar grooves
and then slide off again – into nothing…
I feel old.
I feel chilly with understanding
that most things just are.
Not for something.
Not because of something.
They are – and there is the end to it.
Here.
Now.
It.
Tag: poetry
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Requiem
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Self-portrait
Who am I?
Am I reflections of the world or the mirrors reflecting it?
Where do I begin?
What is inside and what is outside?
Inside and outside of what?
There is no one answering.
I hope there is someone asking. -
Twilight kiss
The wind of time is getting stronger.
It blows through the layers of defence
and chills me to the bone.
Hold me tight
against the wind,
against the tide of time,
against the world.
Fill up my field of vision with your face,
block out every sound with your whisper,
and every taste – with kisses.
Let’s pretend. -
Maya
Observation changes the event,
expression changes the thought
but the event does not exist without observation and thought – without expression.
Observation is an integral part of an event, as language is of thought,
they give them their shape.
Good and evil,
mind and body,
love and hate –
they are just words
simplifying the complexity of experience into language.
And yet they determine who we are and what we do. -
The burial of an age
Every right comes with an attendant responsibility. People who don’t understand it never grow up. Nations that don’t incorporate it into their cultures decay and deteriorate.
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Kensington palace
A display case is the worst kind of cage. It locks one in without affording privacy.
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Mirror of history
Fame and glory –
a house of cards, built on our dreams;
as the dreams metamorphose with new generations,
the foundation is lost,
the eternal glory that seemed immutable becomes muted,
as it slowly fades into a dusty reflection,
into self-indulgent nostalgia for a gilded illusion,
slightly embarrassing but precious, as an old teddy bear…
Rest in peace and good riddance.