titles
various texts
no theme
work in progress
passages
with tiny letters
perhaps never written
a non-book
deliberately abstracted
existential trouble
in the restless narrator
©Aaysid
Blackout Poetry – V
Solitude
I wish I could return
To sweet oblivion,
To those sweet,
Quiet moments
In which everything
Mattered yet nothing
Quite did,
Where reality treated
You better than
Your recurrent dreams,
And the world
Stood still
Only for you;
Something tells me
I am already there,
Stuck in another
Version of unvarying time,
For no two moments
Of surreal solitude
Can ever be alike.
©Aaysid
“He really had been through death, but he had returned because he could not bear the solitude.”
Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
Featured image from Pexels
Rescued
your thoughts keep opening
subconscious portals
that pull you away
from the world
you consciously share
with others like you,
but you are afraid
that one of these days
you might wander
a little too far
and get lost in there;
even though there are
no maps, no keys
to the doors
you close behind you
when you leave,
you shall still
be rescued by people
like you,
who like you enough
to not let go.
©Aaysid
“One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”
Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Featured image from Pexels
Empty
Empty.
The kind where it
Does not matter
What kind
Of empty you are;
Not sad empty,
Nothing to be
Glad about it
Either,
It just is.
Maybe
This is how
It is supposed
To feel
Every time
There is nothing
There
To feel.
©Aaysid
“On the fifth day, which was a Sunday, it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.”
Mark Haddon
Featured image from Pexels
Unfair
The world outside
Their windows
Weeps for everything
It had lost but they
Got to keep;
They count
Their blessings
Every night,
But they cannot sleep!
©Aaysid
“You could’ve tried to be fair. But you didn’t. You don’t even have the right to be sorry.”
Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance
Featured image from Pexels
Love Letters
not making the postscript,
not even the side note,
and almost never
the subject matter,
in spite of that
she spends her life
yearning for days
she would be written
conspicuously into letters,
in which no one else
besides herself
would seem to matter;
she might soon realise
that it is not unwise
if she is the one
who writes herself
those letters!
©Aaysid
“Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving.”
Bell Hooks
Featured image from Pexels
Outrageously Erratic 