Many words and many burdens to fathom
when the head is locked and full of tumultuous blood,
The world is before us, we are yet to see all her ores
though they lie near, they are nothingness for our eyes
And less weighty than dust
Flesh is as steel after the kindness of the heat
from the darkness of the unseen,
turbulence keeps the ship fit
Silence
There's clamour all around me,
the roar won't let me out.
We have to hide ourselves away,
but we're it's chosen prey.
Yet touch silence,we must.
Though,at times, a void,empty,frozen ,falorn
or refuge for thoughts unwanted,thoughts despised
that cling like limpets to servile rock,
I hear the beauty of a longed for dream,
the burbling sound of a far off stream,
the secret spell of hallowed dawn.
Silence begs me in to cleanse my doubts,
to ease the pain of jibes and shouts.
To truly see,not journeyed hopes of A to B.
Just for one precious moment,cradle in your arms
that sweet nothingness.
Robert Parker
“Don’t call me mad,” she screamed.
Hand raised in reaction to her words.
But she planted her feet, like cocoa tree.
“Raise it again. Bear the cost.”
“Wives stab husbands now,” he joked, afraid.
“You'll join your matrimonial abuse colleagues in jail,
Or you think women aren't welcome there?”
He wanted her gone.
New woman to be welcomed at the door.
She wanted independence from a man
Who bragged about his nothingness.
“Your rickety car will fail you.
You’re already down like a crashed plane,” said she.
One bulb. Two shadows.
Marriage died by midnight.
The void must be lonely
A hollow bereft of interaction
Bar staring contest
Matter disperses ever further
Expanding empty space
Or it gathers itself into clusters
Still creating a larger volume of nothing
It longs for company, as all vacuums do
In proportion to its vacancy
the end begins at its limits
And finally the attention is served
And thus we all
Embrace the void
In the quiet room of midnight,
Where even echoes fade away,
I met a hollow kind of silence
That words could never truly say.
The stars were there, yet felt so distant,
The moonlight cold upon my skin,
And all the dreams I once had carried
Became soft ashes deep within.
I touched the air to feel existence,
But found no answer in the breeze,
Only fragments of forgotten moments
Falling gently from the trees.
Nothingness is not just emptiness—
It is the space where memories stay,
A fragile ache between two heartbeats,
A soul that slowly drifts away.
Yet somewhere in that endless darkness,
Beyond the sorrow, fear, and pain,
A tiny spark still keeps on breathing,
Waiting to become light again.
So if someday you meet this silence,
And feel the world has lost its name,
Remember— even in nothingness,
A quiet hope remains.
365.
My Fear of Nothingness
I fear physical death because I may just go…
To the realm of nothingness, nothingness, nothingness
Where I will be occupied by emptiness, emptiness
Like a blank sheet of paper – forsaken & meaningless!
To the space of nothingness, nothingness, nothingness
Where I will be visited by loneliness, loneliness
Like a cup with no water – forgotten & useless!
-03/32/2015
(Dumarao)
*My Fear of Death Collection
If there is a devil
and there’s some debate,
then I think he’s all too human
- most raw and man-like -
jealous, selfish and hellish,
If there is a God
and there is some debate,
God isn’t human
but she may be perfect
and thus due all respect.
If there’s a heaven
and there is some debate,
it’s obviously not in the clouds
but it may be in outer space
or some extra-dimensional, altered state
If there’s a hell
and there’s some debate,
it could be Florida, Texas
or some other god-forsaken place
I hope they’re not expecting us
And last and not leastly
if there’s a great deep nothing
and there’s some debate,
then your prayers are invalid
there’s no Allah or Valhalla
no heaven, no hell - just us.
Perhaps it’s just as well..
because what remains
is our ever fragile wonder
- we’re brief sparkles,
trembling breaths,
with a chance to love
like sparks in the dark.
.
.
A song for this:
My Song - Labi Siffre
Awake I am or so I feel?
Under the sky blue shade of glee.
Teaming up with butterflies in glory,
Untamed trees, littering in grief.
Muse I am in my silver gown for nature unseen
Nothingness in me – a tranquil dream
The gamut of space is unmeasured
as future projectory durations are futile
for the present
time is a provocative presence
with their backs to the wall
subjecting humankind
a balance with the course of its nature
having the incessant tock that ticks many off the wall
that faces trade with theirs
and that soulless thing of their objection
where lies a litany of unfinished deadlines
leaving these higher-ups against the wall
sharing their objections
whining that the clock had run out of its time
—preposterous
the vacuum of time is indefinite
there is no beginning
there is no ending
mayhaps the time of the day had expired
and if it be so
then there will always be a tomorrow
—time permitting
It wasn't bad
it wasn't good
it represented everything
I feared so much before...
that unattainable grace
tornados of stone
a bad written story
with a desolating end.
It wasn't bad
It wasn't good
it was like a fable
that repeat itself
in different places
in different times
with different faces
like unleashed madness.
It wasn't bad
it wasn't good
it was what it was
either I like it or not
unbearable silence
under wet sheets at night
I don't think many understand
what a space full of nothingness is.
And I could go on and on
repeating myself
like those endless novels
where everyone dies
then comes a new day
with knew pop stars
singing meaningless songs
acting without knowing their lines.
Jessica
In the garden where morality is a shadow spinning into nothingness,
two bodies touch like shadows fading into the smoke of dusk,
it's not love, just an echo of another touch, a pulse in the unnatural,
we are strangers meeting and parting on a stage of forgetfulness.
And your eyes are deep lakes, reflecting no hope,
only empty desires seeking solace in the abyss of a hollow heart,
we were free, yet senseless, like the dead embracing,
a game without risks, without humor, a ruin smiling at fate.
This garden is full of poisoned fruits, yet sweet fragrances,
and you must know how to discern, to understand the secret of each petal,
we are lost in this flow of thoughts, of history and truth,
for without morality, we are just two lost phantoms, in search of ourselves.
And deep in the heart, where love's roots should grow,
only sand flows, reminding of stories lost in a dream,
we are shipwrecks on a sea of silence, a mute echo in the night,
in a world of strangers, where only death knows a true love.
I was drenched in black water,
Yet, it looked as though I were dried out.
I stood before a lighthouse,
Yet, remained unseen.
Gazing into the sea’s blackness,
The highest tides forever circled me.
My eyes could find no anchor,
As my dark hands sailed towards the farthest shore.
My home, too, was cloaked in shadow;
Something unseen, yet present, walked with me there.
The map and the wanderer within me never agreed.
Colours were but drifting sailors in my life’s vast sea.
Different souls sail different paths,
Tides come and go.
Memoirs float like driftwood.
Something vast yet fragile appears near the stones.
My grave is smaller than the stones,
Its epitaph; empty and black.
I performed on countless beaches,
Yet, nothing remains visible on this blackest shore.
Wrap your poem
around nothing
its bow mocked
in relief
Each word
but a gesture
of empty
deceit
Wrap your verse
in a vacuum
where all speech
is abhorred
The power
of emptiness
alone
— and unscored
(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)
Perhaps I wouldn't move
if the train came.
Not out of courage,
just curiosity.
What does it feel like?
or just the experience, maybe.
I sit down in the shower sometimes
until the water forgets it's warm
and I forget
I have skin.
In that moment,
and that moment only
I think nothing
but oh, I feel-
I feel everything
like a flood, swirling, raging inside,
beating ferociously on the locked doors.
On the surface?
an ingrained smile,
a shrug,
a practiced "whatever."
I'm not good at
being good.
Not when good means
loud, bright, easy.
Sometimes I scream
like my ribs are splitting,
but my voice, my throat-
remain stubbornly silent.
I wish one day,
you would knock,
and no one would answer-
No one would come to the door.
Because perhaps I'd have reached where I've always wanted to be,
or perhaps I'm just not there anymore.
God made everything out of nothing
but the nothingness shows through.
Paul Valery
Only silence wells
in the dark throat of the evening
and anything you hear
is of the world's making
or your own mind
filling up the empty spaces.
Music is made this way
and poetry, as they try
to give substance and form
to what is missing,
to fill that gnawing void
with a note or word.
Works fluoresce
as exotic creatures do
in the dark of deep seas,
small, faint flickers
punctuating the unknowable
with momentary life.
And so it is,
we are drawn towards
a centre that seems everywhere,
a nothingness rolled
into a ball, the circumference
of the infinite that resides
within us all.
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