a baseless existence
seeing an absolute incoherence and
hearing nothing from with which it
interacts
is my own curse
stripped from reason
its compass of truth
denied, by its own advice, an
ethical foothold
suffocated by numerous references
to multitudes of false beauty
by those confuse aesthetics with
cosmetics
and brushed aside as insignificant
for its uncertainty on
everything it reflects.
sometimes i envy those sufis
who had the luxury of
treating themselves with
long intervals of silence and
solitude
away from the maddening crowd
for their firm belief that
escape, to where ever it may be,
is a solution
or, for that matter,
for any belief they had had.
it is an infuriating realization that
this baseless and unhappy
existence is my only solace
in a universe which
reveals itself through silence
asserts itself through incoherence
infuriating because
my sorrow became my solace
my sadness became my happiness
emptiness became my substance
and silence became my voice
i can't even ask myself
`where had i gone wrong?'
