Tag Archives: Philosophy

Apologia

Who will remember the Days
when they are gone?
who will sail the Sea
when it is dry?
what tears shall we shed
when we can no longer cry?
who will furl up the flag
when the war is done?
who will stand guard
when the armies are gone?
who shall tend our grave
and sweep away the leaves
of an autumnal season
long out of step?

What songs will Nightingales make
when there’s no-one left to hear?
what pictures will colours make
when there’s no-one to paint
the scene of old men on
the park bench by the lake?
who will remember the days
when diaries crack with longing
for missing fingers to turn
pages that fade and crumble
for want of eyes to read again
the names of those things
unspoken by lips long sealed,
who then will there be left
to remember the days?

Interstellar

Standing in our stockinged feet

on the surface of an alien world ,

wondering whether we can ever go back

go back go back again to that

place where we started from ?

So very far away so very

long ago that somehow we left

somehow find ourselves in our

stockinged feet standing and staring

staring across an unfamiliar horizon

wrought of jewels burnished with gold ,

dazzling and shining and when

all is done and all is told

we simply stand with one question

remaining on our lips ,

How do we get back home ?

The Paradox of Nobility

One morning in my portico,
as I sat on my swing,
enjoying the breeze,
hearing the birds sing.

Up on a wall crevice I found,
a spider had cast its web.
An ant struggled to escape from it;
of urgent succour, it was in need.

As the wily spider crept to its prey,
the ant struggled harder, seeing its end.
A bout of nobility struck my head;
I broke the web and saved the ant.

The free ant scampered away.
I went back happily to my swing.
The starving spider, too old
to re-spin, ended up dying.

The ‘web’ of nature is so intricate,
here one’s death is other’s life.
My smug nobility lay rebuffed;
in saving the ant, I took spider’s life.

I always carry a first aid kit
to help anyone in need.
Keen to salve others’ injury:
a small bruise or a mild bleed.

One day in a bus
a man got injured.
Out came my kit to soothe;
he was relieved and I pleased.

But a shocking epiphany
came to me like a flash of light.
Should I be credited for helping
or be blamed for his plight?

The seed of desire carries with it
the hidden tree of its fulfillment.
That man’s injury was just a symptom,
my desire for nobility caused his predicament.

In our current reality,
a doctor is a noble man.
But in a healthy society,
he is a nonentity.

The nobility of curing is
but a consequence of disorder.
It would meet its obsolescence
in neverland and its innate order.

Nobility is extinct in utopia.
It’s born with utopia’s death.
It needs suffering to survive,
and ironically, calamities to thrive.

An Existential Divertissement

Where are our dreams

when we’re not dreaming them?

Where is everywhere else

when we’re not there?

What are the voices saying

when we’re not listening to them?

Where does the time go

when we’ve let it pass us by?

Will our graves remain empty

should we choose not to die?

Existential Interlude

The pain Antonio Cabral felt

for the loss of his loved ones

could not be negated

by a latent dependency on

opiates and liquor;

Amid the dank squalor

and vicissitudes of an ascetic refuge

in the doldrums of a nameless

friendless city he finally

confronted the phantasms of

his ineluctable failings and

was reconciled to them.

Genesis 1:1

No record was kept of
the name that they
gave to that bird,
vivid yellow and green
welcoming a primeval dawn,
captured on flickering footage
the memory of it kept
alive in black and white;

no-one recalls any longer
how many villagers were
removed from the site of
that first copper mine;

no written record was kept
of their ancient wisdom and
their cosmology long swept away;

sat neatly in rows
they learn anew
from the gaunt apparition
standing in front
of the blackboard,
bespectacled,
collared
and tied.

Intelligence and Wisdom

Intelligence makes atom bombs.
Wisdom says, “you better not use it.”

Intelligence says, “I can win.”
Wisdom says, “It doesn’t matter.”

Intelligence answers. Wisdom questions.
Intelligence competes. Wisdom holds hands.

Intelligence yearns to take credit.
Wisdom hankers to share it.

Intelligence needs to prove a point.
Wisdom has nothing to prove.

Sheer intelligence rankles. Wisdom soothes.
Intelligence dissects. Wisdom synthesizes.

Intelligence speaks out.
Wisdom is silent until spoken to.

Intelligence mocks at the foolish.
Wisdom respects the unwise.

Intelligence is a roaring stream.
Wisdom is a calm lake.

Intelligence without wisdom is wild fire.
Intelligence with wisdom is a trained horse.

Faith

Faith is the exhilaration of a kid thrown playfully in the air knowing he is safe.
Faith is the song of a lark that knows that the rising sun will dispel the dark.
Faith is the swagger in the dance of a peacock welcoming the rain.
Faith is believing what your eyes cannot see.
Faith is a knowing of a certainty that it is given to you even before you ask.
Faith is a gratitude in advance for its deliverance.
Faith is beyond hope.
Faith is not having to worry.
Faith is not believing in an alternate possibility.
Faith is pure love.
Faith is surrender but not cowardice.
Faith is a knowing beyond doubt that you will succeed.

Notes on the Dreams of Dust

We gaze upon ourselves

as we die each day

the slow death of days,

the long days

of circumspection

unspoken remorse;

cryptic clues

to understanding

the vastness of

the futility of all

endeavour committed

so naively to an

enterprise of certain failure;

for some of us at least

the day is now over,

the dust settled.

Notes on the Dreams of Dust

Posted by Louis Kasatkin on Tuesday, 6 June 2017