In an instinct so spontaneous
I fell defunct
Into a solitary sedation
Refraining to gaze
At the deep remoteness
Relentless I choke
Sniff out and quit
All myself-protected airs
There it points
A resolute finger
To the ceremonious burial
It’s my own ‘self’.
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The poem envelopes the reader with tropes of ennui and existential dread. And somewhere in the background the discerning reader might recognise the influence of Borges himself.
Thank you, Louis Kasatkin for reading out the depths in my poem.