Category: Existential Poetry

I think that in this world
it is best to find a little
happiness.

Leaves and trees fall and wither
with the rain and snow.

Those flashes of bright spring,
the pretty smile and sunlit eyes,
they fade with time.

What lingers is strife,
the inertia that demands
greater and greater energy from us.

We are like flowers,
vibrant with starry power—
until it’s all used up,
and what is left is disorder.

So, we should use this moment
and the miraculous organ of the mind
to make sense of our time,
and find reasons to love,
and reasons to smile.

At the end of the day,
night arrives
and our joys become
cricket hymns.  

I only have this life,

and though the years seem to pass without notice,

I can only be content with the measure I have been given.

Though I have little to show for myself

in terms of fame and material riches,

I have moments such as these,

where the quiet of my room is alive

with gentle droplets of rain.

I am filled with such gratitude

for having the ears to hear it.

What does snow
mean to sleepwalkers?

What is it
for grass to freeze
into fractal shards
of air,
for breeze to slow, for time
to crystalize?

When powdery particles collect
in the nooks of trees—
When silver sleet
stills atop a slumbering street,
do walkers stop,
breathe,
and take a chance to wake
from hasty heat?

Or does it never snow
in dreamless sleep?

Today the weather is calm;
it is a gelatinous film
layered over cars and beggars.

Leaves are falling, slowly,
as though autumn were
mere suggestion.

They need not heed
a season because season
is just a word;
a simple measure of change,
and we
need not follow.

Change is thoughtless,
and colors shift
without direction or pleading.

We’re all a little ruddier
than we were yesterday.
Tomorrow,
we’ll be a little more.
After,
the trees in white snow
will be naked.

Ice on bare flesh,
numbed fingers and toes;
remember
we’ve been here before,
within mist and cold,
within particles of light
on a snowflake.

We dance and fall, slowly,
as though life were
mere suggestion.

We need not heed—
life is just a word.