Thursday, August 6, 2009


Stumbling upon a consciousness
With the mind numb
And thoughts darting, forking fast
Inside the flaccid congitarium

Finding, seeking, hunting a rhythm
to escape a truth now out of scope
So that the new reality burns out
any possibility of hope

Pain brings sensation not sorrow
Hence it's purpose is void
Thus it is nulled, humbled, mastered
It's reason for existence destroyed

We seek eternally, the meaning of time
Searching, gathering to the limit of ability
And as its scope expands limitless, we become
Prisoners of our own infinity...


Anandi said...

If the truth is out of scope, you're free of it anyway, just that in this case, it's not of your own choosing.

Pain may not bring sorrow, but it does trigger a chain of events which will culminate into sorrow. And there are many reasons why it eventually becomes sorrow.

'Prisoners of our own infinity'. Hmmmmmm, I like the poetic contrast and irony, but in reality, it's nothing short of bullshit.

But it's a good poem. Good. Yes. Great is only Whitman.

Sayan said...

Prisoners of our own infinty-> our inability to match our rapidly expanding scope of events with our conscious thought process because our mind is NUMB!!!