The tragedy of our times is not the tragedy of reason, but the triumph of reason
The tragedy of our times is not the tragedy of reason, but the triumph of reason,
A cold triumph, cloaked in mantles of pure logic,
That suffocates the whispers of hearts, lost in the echo of sterile calculations.
In this ice age, where formulas dominate dreams,
We live in the shadows of frozen truths, ever-chilled by the clarity of rationality.
In the flow of consciousness, I wander through the cathedrals of the human mind,
Where each column is a symbol of triumphant logic,
And each stained glass window filtering light is a rationale,
But in these sanctuaries of calculation, the spirit secretly breaks,
In search of a home in the cold palaces of certitude.
Gazing into the dark palette of time, I see shattered illusions,
For reason, triumphant, has raised walls around our hearts,
It has bound our souls with invisible chains of cold analysis,
And our dreams, once wings in the night, are now but pale shadows,
Among statues of rigid thoughts and calcined reasonings.
Every step on the path of reason takes us deeper into the labyrinth,
An endless journey through deserts of clarifications,
But what we lose at the edge of this desert is the song of the heart,
A silent melody, buried under the barren dust of reason's triumph.
I delve into the depths of this dream of unfurled clarity,
Where the stars are but data points, and the moon an unsolved equation,
Feeling that the death of mystery is the price we pay,
A tribute to the altar of exact, yet soulless knowledge.
In the shadow of these cold calculations, whispers of memories are hidden,
Seeking to breathe in the thicket of glittering numbers,
The heart's desires become fireflies through the night of logic,
Each flicker, an attempt to find a place in reason's triumph.
In every solved equation, lies the loss of a miracle,
A piece of life's poetry, transformed into mere certainty,
In a world where predetermined answers bury questions,
We've lost the ability to dream boundlessly, without limits.
Perhaps in this triumph of reason lies the greatest tragedy,
The absence of that magic which made us yearn beyond the stars,
To wander through dreams with open wings, to intertwine with eternity,
Now prisoners in the ivory tower of merciless clarity.
In the flow of consciousness, I find myself deep in this sea of certainties,
But I feel the call of the profound sea of the heart, that sublime chaos of doubt,
Where every wave is a dream that defies reason,
And where stars can be lost embraces, not simple points of light.
Thus, in a world dominated by the triumph of reason,
I strive to reclaim the hesitations, the doubts, the beautiful fears,
To revive those flickers of magic and the unknown,
For in the fragile balance between reason and heart,
Lies our deepest truth, that we are poems,
Written not just by logic, but also by the endless dreams of the heart.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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