Cycling in cycles of cyclic cynicism
I look out the car window
a valley of fog engulfs the repelling aura
and I am surrounded by the soot and black smoke
of a burning corpse stranded on the middle of the street
yet I do not leave my car
I do not stop driving
for I am afraid, I am fearful of the truth
that nothing will change in this dynamic world
that all pathways lead to the same ending
that all timelines converge to the same history
what if my life events played out differently
what if I did this, or I did not do that
what if I make this leap of faith, and perish mid-fall
why do I think, why do I speak
why does the world continue to spin endlessly
I scream out my pain and suffering
overwhelming the metal band jamming out in my car
the guitar riffs shy away from my shriek of anguish
the drums turn to whisper out of respect for my loss
The car stops at a port by the contaminated seaside
I step out of the vehicle, and witness a calm sight
a rather small port, with a single wooden shack
blindly hammered by an aging builder
nails bent and sticking out at corners and crevices
and a flimsy bridge made of wooden planks
gaps as wide as two feet; the black waters can be seen
and its putrid stench leaks into my villager's nostrils
I take two steps back, and take two steps forth
back and forth, never knowing if this is the right path
These are all dreams
day to day, night to night
an ethereal life floating beyond the borders of the heart
or an unreal world living within my mind, fallen apart?
I wake up from my deepest slumber
yet I find myself lying on a rough floor
as my view of the bright sun sways left and right
the digested supper and alcohol I had last night
I feel them evaporating out of my throat
yet, it is only the most uncomfortable feeling
I cannot relieve it, nor can I force myself to relieve it
and I am confident that in the future, I will never relive it
but the sun is so wavy, so, so wavy
yet my body sinks into the hard wooden floor
not the smoothest bed, but I dreamed better worlds here, all well
than on the king-sized bed in a company-owned five-star hotel
the light splashes from the contaminated sea are mildly felt
and mildly appreciated, yet I know I will forever relive this
a beautiful ocean smothered with a jacket of ghastly dust
will the Angel ever lose their wings, fall off, and lose trust?
And thus, the journey of revelations begins.
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Nebula at Sea
الشعرThe journey of a man venturing into a world of insecurities, apathy, and strangeness. A story of growing up. A rhythm of escaping into the fantasy of the self. This is a collection of poetic stories through sufferings, hardships, and recovery. A rev...
