In the night
And in the dark of the daylight,
As the world swirls around me,
Battering me like a hurricane,
With a thousand hammers of words and eyes,
And I entwine myself in my own arms,
Like a tortoise.

To give up the fight,
To sink under the dark waves,
Till the rock bottom of the sea,
To grow rows of tearing teeth,
Be a mindless hunter of the depths,
To be the whispering demon that says:
You can win – just be ugly.

I have always been a great believer. I've flitted from one belief to another, from religion to atheism and from one philosophy to another, until I finally settled on J. Krishnamurti whose philosophy is that there is no philosophy. So now I firmly believe that there is nothing to believe. Now such a belief would, I believe, have been considered dangerous to society if the authorities had believed me to be of any consequence. No man of consequence they believe would waste his time on the pursuit of blogging!

Posted in poem
One comment on “Whisperings

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