Tag Archives: existential

Palimpsests

I wake up this morning

to the empty sky..

What are words worth

when they are no longer new?

When we hear some haunting lyrics,

eloquent,elegiac,ephemeral,

so perfect,so borrowed

on a morning when

the Sun itself is no longer new

let alone all the things under it;

what shall keep us company

on dark winter evenings

if we’re not wrapped in the cloak

of a borrowed nostalgia that

recalls and replays on an

endless,endless loop

words that are no longer new

and what are words worth

as I wake up this morning

to the empty sky..

Event Horizon

Greyless grey

endless grey,

where beginnings began

and endings end

Shifting times of sand

where distances ran

out of time and space

and having run

ended their race;

No-one waited for

tide nor time

no-one not even you

and when time and tide

together were gone,

ebbed into the long ago

long awaited now

you were nowhere to be seen,

You were seen,

Nowhere,

where you’ve always been

remaining remaindered

forgotten forgetting

in

Greyless grey.

Existential Allegory #83

There once was a beggar,

blind from birth,

sat by the city’s gates

who would shout out,

from time to time:

Why are you looking at me?

then one day

a passerby stopped

on hearing the beggar’s cry

and asked

how do you know if someone is looking at you?

the sightless mendicant replied

I’m allowed to guess,aren’t I?

The Man in the High Tower

Among all the tall towers

there is a man in the

highest tower of all;

a man alone

surveying all that is his,

and most of what he sees

among all the tall towers,

is his;

Orders,commands,purpose,vision

and power flow from this pinnacle,

this apogee of authority

down,down into the

favellas, barrios, ghettoes,

shanty towns and slums,

to those who hear his voice

relayed by officials, underlings,

acolytes and the vast panoply

of enforcement;

Even from among all the tall towers

they gaze up at

the highest tower of all

and imagine in there

a man alone;

an old man

all alone

and

dying

of Cancer.

Fin de Siecle

Trailing in the wake of Lions,

Hyenas come to feast on the carcass

of someone else’s name;

Shattered windows,

Burned out cars,

Looted Stores,

Toppled statues;

Triumphant Vandal hordes

breaking the gates of Rome,

trampling its glories,

defecating on Temple steps;

Anarchy like lava

spewing from a volcano’s maw

shrouding the days

in its ashen nights

and its silence drowning our screams.

Void

On a day of

no particular significance,

where nothing especially

happened,

no report was made

no notes were taken,

nor behaviour observed;

the absence of animation

accumulated

throughout the day,

leaving public spaces uninhabited

the flora and fauna

undisturbed and unmolested;

Absence this your sting,

Emptiness this is your victory.

Locomotive Breath

The rumble of passing trains,

going where they’ve always gone

at times we knew

and could set our watches by,

their metronomic clatter,

their iron rail rhythm

remorselessly bending nature

to their will;

Pressing on through the seasons

the rumble of passing trains;

Unfolding the countryside at

which passengers are staring,

watching and waiting

for their destinations to arrive,

as if by magic,

outside of their carriage windows,

Oblivious to the locomotive’s

kinetic brutality beating down

the miles as houses roll past

like a tracking shot in a film,

where the footage repeats in loops

and in time-less labyrinths

of their own purpose and making

and unmaking and remaking,

till the metal leviathan

heaves its last breath

and sighs contentedly,

at ease,

on time,

at the platform,

where no-one disembarks.