Tag Archives: existential

Attributed to Hieronymus Bosch

      Attributed to Hieronymus Bosch

When all there is
is gone
and all that ever was
is no more,
There will be only empty faces
weeping tears that flood
from lidless eyes
staring into a void
that was our tomorrow;
and tomorrow
whose hours will never strike
whose pain we will never feel
nor disappointments endure,
there will be only tongueless mouths
screaming a truth
that we can no longer hear
when all is gone.


          Homage to ’70’s Rock Lyrics

When the barren night skies
scar our soul,
stars having fallen
from their firmament
raise only a futile cloud
of dust and misapprehension
leaving us stranded in
waterless wildernesses forged
by the wrath of our many
forefathers who lunged
at the Sun with their swords
seeking blood seeking glory
till Choruses were heard no more;
and mausoleuns entombed
only the weeping
as the barren night skies
scar our soul.

( A somewhat spontaneous celebration and nod to the likes of Pink Floyd,The Moody Blues,Led Zeppelin et al)

I, Camera

There is in the photograph you’re holding

someone taking a snapshot

of someone else posing

for someone else’s camera –

who’s being photographed by somebody

taking a picture to post online,

and in turn is getting snapped

by others taking shots

who without knowing it

are clicked for posterity

forever pointing lenses at

others in others’ images

that reduce to a single dot on the horizon,

which upon magnification

turns out to be you,

holding a photograph

of someone taking a snapshot..

You dead or what?

You dead or what?

“There are the dead and those who claim to be dead”,
he opined;
“For someone who’s supposed to be
 dead you seem to be doing a lot of
moving around”,
he said arching an eyebrow;
“Not that I would question your right 
to identify as dead”,
his lips dripping with irony;
“Merely that your present vivacity
doesn’t immediately convey to others
an impression that you are indeed dead”.
Hearing this mortophobic prejudice,
the one identifying as dead slid back
into the coffin muttering,
they’d wait until someone sympathetic
to their lifestyle choice comes along.



Time escapes
like air from a pierced balloon,
our “now” is going
going fast
our “then” has already gone,
sans requiem, sans mourning;
even tomorrow will be too short
for all our dreams;
Time will no longer return
at our bidding,
even as we wait for it
on some distant shore

so terribly, terribly
gazing forlornly
into that forever,

Attributed to Pessoa

Attributed to Pessoa

There are memories

and there are memories

that aren’t yours;

There are days in the Sun

and there are days

when you weren’t there;

There is music you listened to

and there are melodies

which you’ve never heard;

There are tears

and there are tears you shed

for someone you never knew;

There are futures

and there are your futures

none of which will come to pass.



And what have I made of life ?
What have I understood if anything at all?
I think therefore I am is just plain wrong,
I “do” therefore I am is much closer to the mark for me;
So what have I made of life ?
What has mine been other than that
which it is and was always going to be,
a Cadenza-
” a technically brilliant sometimes improvised solo passage toward the close of a concerto.”
almost done then ?
but not just yet

Out of Synch

                 Out of Synch

Should I be doing something important?

why can’t I remember what it is?

was I supposed to be somewhere

for an appointment?

I’ve no idea who with;

Clocks stare at me

with empty faces,

refusing to give me a cue

they’re not pointing at anything

and I really don’t know

what to do.


The day is done

before the day has begun,

empty bottles line doorsteps waiting

for a milkman who will never come;

A mute roar of silent crowds

in deserted stadiums

where no-one is playing

and no football is kicked,

all their yesteryear glories

filling all their tomorrows;

The grass is growing backwards

as the Sun recedes at noon,

jokes are told after the

laughter gets swallowed back

down into throats,

words once uttered

are scrolled up into mouths,

each journey begins with the last step


Answers precede questions

questions precede doubts

doubts precede thought;

shrouds at weddings

funerals at births,

The day has begun

before the day is done..