Long Inexistent Poems
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We believe love to be that ideal perfect world we seek
Seeing in it, a comfort, a solace, a companionship,
Thereby imbibing us with enough strength
As to face our world, which can be good
If it wants to or hostile if it so deems!
Yet, in that which we want to root ourselves,
Lies a hidden pit, which gets opened
Only when the blindfold that we wear over our eyes,
Get lifted by that which is known as our truth!
In the depths of the pit, abuse in all of its forms
Steadily builds itself upon its own foundations,
And once it is set loose,
Nothing and no one can chase it down,
And secure it back to then when it was inexistent!
Once free, it shows itself as being made of a steady will
Easily shattering us in whatever ways that it can;
Physically maiming us as to have us wince with pain
As we busy ourselves doing our daily activities
Or emotionally tearing us apart
As to turn us into unstable oceans, capable of
Turning dry if we so wish to, or making of our swells
Heavenly planes for surfers to play into if we so choose!
The abuse that is hidden in love comes with its packaging
And the extent to which each one of us experiences it
Depends upon our chance, or even our karma, or even
Upon that which we call fate!
But then, if we choose to stay away from the soothe of love,
We come to face another kind of abuse;
That which comes from those who are unable to digest
The fruits that we grow; that which come from the trees
Of inner peace growing in our own microcosm!
for the third class life is surrounded by, not a single affirmative element but utter negativity, it may be a condemned one, yet is still worthwhile living the life because in the total negativity one can disavow everything just like an absolute authority
for the third-rater is always treated by those around one with contempt, the life may be miserable, yet is enjoyable because the anger i swallowed in every moment of my life and kept in the depth of my heart with tears can be spewed out at any time, in anywhere, just like a most powerful tyrant
to impress others, may be impossible, i flapped the wings that actually i didn’t possess; the beauty of life was then however, it doesn’t matter if i was a performer of first class theatre or of third. even with those inexistent wings, i was able to fly boastfully in the spotlight dazzling colorful air though for a little while
although i searched for a way to wonderland and went after a good and ripened time for harvest, the soul rent with grief and mortified, alas, i was always wound-up to standing in the damned same starting point because no matter
how hard i searched, the way to wonderland was nowhere on earth it never
existed for me, no matter how eagerly i went after it, the ripened good time was never there for me to harvest; nonetheless, even with deeply wounded heart, i was able to find the moment of peace at the point where i started off was, may be my numbed sensitivity, caused from the debt too great for me to pay off, caused from the destitution never be filled to flee from it
“why don’t you laugh at this ludicrous fool’s tears?” the fool being ousted from even this filthy third class theatre which was filled with rowdy audiences! “why don’t you cry for this helpless buffoon’s laughter?” mimicking Caesar with antic,
‘et tu, Brute!’*
even in this crucial moment
of losing my one and only vocation the buffoon ever had
*William Shakespeare. Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 1. ‘You too, Brutus!’
I got lost coming home tonight
To my surprise, the room was empty
You were not there, sweetie
The bed was made and the floor was bright.
I miss you, I miss you dearly
The room was very cold and sad
Like a lover who’s desperate and mad
Frankly, my heart felt weak and empty.
Your shadow was absent
Your silhouette was inexistent
You were not present in the room.
One can effortlessly hear a domestic silence
Which was afraid to bother the broom
I’m lost again. I lost my common sense.
Copyright © July 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Imaginary equivocates
Inquiring all along the states
In a silenced unreal fullness of Time
Necessity and Space, for a while
Forever unconsciuous of her mind
Inexistent demonstration of her exile
Our world, our dimension, our style
Decided all in one only night
Before the announced wreckship of mankind
Unnatural and delight
of our notes, dreams and lines
that were simple vovels of an infant cry
Above the sheet of shyness
And over the street of soleness
The tremble of a while
An electrified dumb image of dismay
As it looks from behind
It’s a simple algorithm
But with no way to retourn back again
For the eternal stage of fearless Fate
Why, after having suffered a fall down this mundane plane
My chances of being in a state of gain
My hopes of even wishing to be arisen
Were more than inexistent!
But then, the power of love does be so grand
Reminded was I, of how much I do mean
To the one I have always been in love with
The one because of whom I had always been in a state of grieve
Yes, a second chance was I offered
A second chance which made me content
A second chance imbibed with hues so deeply colored
That to it and to its strange force, I surrendered
Love does be a blessing
Love does be the force behind one's inner strength
Love does make one feel so at ease
Love does even cure any sort of ailing
Love has become my faith
Or should I say, my faith did turn into love
Now, a floating spirit I have become, free and wild
Letting myself be blown whichever way does go the summery breeze
I did choose another route
I did think of my own pain as being so acute
As to forsake love, as to forsake solace
Wanting to build for myself, another castle, even if were out of place
But Love wanted me back
Love offered me a second chance
Or should I say, I gave love another chance
Whichever, it matters not, for it is a love which does be reciprocated
Pray, this life does revolve on uncertainty
It is laden with misery and relies on pity
Love graces it, I shall accept this second chance
I shall make of it, the tune on which I shall always dance
Always, as long as I do breathe
Always, as long as I shall live
Pray, love does be my savior
Love does be my caring gardener!
If life itself does have no meaning
Pray, tell me, does justice need to come from the divine
From that power which is still mystifying
From that power which is still in the process of being philosophized
Why, see you, I believe that justice should come from ourselves
Following the standards we have set ourselves
Based on a set of moral values
Based on the laws of all societies
Of course, we do have to pray for justice
Of course, we do have to let the heavens do their part
But what of the demoniac nature of man
That which causes him to have always evil prevailing in this land
What to make of such a man, if not to show him justice
Is it not said that humanity is made of two sides
One side shines with light, while the other ones rejoices in being sinful
Pray, what to make of such an evil man, if not to show him instant justice
Some do, in all sorts of evil acts, take pride
Others do see in those acts, something so beautiful
Pity I these people for they are made of blindness
Pretending to be followers of the Great One, they do find joy in sinful activities
So, justice does be for me, whatever does will the moral standards
Indeed, justice does be for me, the victory of truth
Yes, justice does be for me, humanity, living side by side, in peace
Justice, does be for me, constant and stable happiness
Justice does be for me, the vanquishing of those inner demons
Those that make us, to sins, so prone
Justice does be for me, the way life reminds us all that God does be somewhere
Even if He does seem to be always absent and even inexistent
Justice does be for me, the proof of my muse's love for me
My muse, my God, my angel, the one giving me company
Justice does be, the paths He does clear
Justice does be, the tears He does dry
Justice does be the way He keeps me smiling
Even when the rain is pelting or the desert remains all dry
Justice does be the look scary snakes do give me
When they try to bite me but cannot, for my heart beats to the rhythms of the sky!
Justice,
Divine peace
Human intervention
Justice, the only way to find in this world, peace!
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
5 September 2015
For Contest Justice
Sponsored by Tammy Reams
Do not think of me; go on your solitary way,
search empty valleys or deserted mountain tops.
Or trek towards the seashore. See, the horizons beckon,
ever-shifting, changing, always fluctuating, mutable.
You sucked my soul away: I am an empty husk,
worthless, ineffectual, useless. Move on towards the sun
shining in the high skies but be careful lest
you yourself are burnt away to worthless cinders.
So do not think of me. Move on, be bright
the future is now yours, I'm merely just a past.
Forget me; I'm inexistent for that is my lifeline.
Maybe I'll find a loving soul who loves me true,
but only if you do not think of me.
Summary calendar from mimicked leaves yellow excuses dead alive unceasing,
The fogs all of loves' fate from a wasteland of living dead blue-gray collapsed,
With crows white parrot colorful the moments from palms like sand of time elapsed,
On your neck's mane an I a he a green dove that flies buried releasing.
That left behind in heavens this inept planet wise with meadows of kind,
Leaving you those who will understand like stars drowned in luminous mud,
A two a you plural like the madman from us whole torn who painted yesterday icons,
Fine ladies on empty bottles of champagne full and comets from cosmic terrestrial sand.
Nudes faceless with hidden faces replacing any withered absent leaf present,
Of eyelids unique eye inexistent that sees blindness with a debauched muse chaste,
The mimicked real leaves fall climbing toward the sky of earth where death revives,
The yellow green excuses of eternal ephemeral autumn extinguish lighting forever.
The white fogs all of loves unfulfilled fulfilled in void full empty,
The wasteland of living dead with green oases growing in desert full of sterile life,
Crows white black parrots silent speaking in colors mute noisy multicolored,
The moments from palms escape caught in fingers open clenched of time arrested.
On the mane of your neck without mane an I stranger familiar a he unknown intimate,
A green dove red with blood that left remaining in the subterranean heavens,
The planet inept savant with meadows of kind ordinary extraordinary of sterile grass,
Leaving us stars drowned floating in the transparent mud of infinity bounded.
A two alone a you plural I like the madman healthy from us absent present,
Who painted yesterday tomorrow icons destroyed preserved fine ladies holy profane on bottles,
Empty full of champagne of tears and comets from stellar sand cosmic terrestrial,
Nudes dressed faceless with all the faces replacing the leaf withered fresh.
Of eyelids open closed unique eye inexistent real that sees unseeing seeing,
With a debauched muse chaste modest that inspires the empty full of absurd logical serene,
The summary detailed calendar from false true leaves counts our immortal days,
In the wasteland full of living dead where we all are the drowned stars shining in mud.
Night follows day in bitter hungry monotony,
as wane laughter dies upon parched lips,
and ignorant innocence is trampled underfoot
at every corner of the decadent deserted plain.
Homeless bulimic children unsmiling, subdued, thirsty
seek dilapidated dug-in shelters devoid of nourishing food.
Employment inexistent, as the rich grow richer,
the poor poorer. Death is not far away. Famine reigns.
This is today's nightmare as vultures fly above
ready to prey on dead children’s carcasses below.
But I am headstrong and will not give up.
For I'm sure someday there will be
a reckoning, a purge, where judgment triumphs.
Then as years roll by, we will return to till the land,
our laughter will increase, our food becomes abundant,
our minds will return to sanity.
And all my wishes will come true.
Love grows with humility and respect.
But that's another story, another age.