Man Qua Man?
We carry the forgotten loss of our memories
Plodding heavily with the bulk of its emptiness
Choices we did not make and those we were not given
Dragging slovenly behind our unseeable tracks
We struggle to thread the needle of our sickness
A cohesion unraveled in our disarray
We wear two faces in the world and our souls
A dichotomy that festers and gnaws
Meaning withers, a luxury we cannot afford
As we hurtle headlong, into the purposeless
Soaring the leaden wings of empty feathers
Reaching for a sun that does not shine
We abandoned the magic in scoffing silence
The glue that permeated our happiness and pain
And stood triumphant upon that parochial hill
And surveyed the illusion before our eyes
And now in the twilight of our gathering lull
We flail our arms, grasping in the blindness
Like a forgotten fragment of a fitful dream —
“Where is the moksha that will make me whole?”
© Unni Nambiar (October 5th, 2022)
