The Song of Absurdity

When the mundane joys are alive
and the rare ones are lying dead,
when the grains of dust look gorgeous
while the setting sun is plain red,
I can feel something isn’t right,
though what it is I cannot tell.
Obscured by the ways of our eyes,
sullied by the manners of the world,
distorted through the sounds of our speech
beyond all things I can recognize,
a chaos like some anomaly
in gardens left unweeded thrives.
Dead bodies are just bodies dead,
lukewarm from the fading life,
no stories and no memories,
growing colder with passing time.
Yet we seek and so often find
new histories that make us blind.

2 thoughts on “The Song of Absurdity

  1. we do our best in the plain
    and in the ordinary, lives the truest form
    the form of all things~
    not contrived, but deliberate and pure
    as all the rain and the snow
    we are but the passing of things~
    and these things become richer
    through the histories
    be they fated or not,
    but they are as real as the clouds
    as real as the hay
    and as real as the baked dirt
    that covers the terra firma
    waiting to quench a thirst~

    Amit, your poetry inspires~Thank You~


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