There is nothing to ask of anyone,
nothing left to claim.
I sift through the fragments of memory;
whatever I find, I leave behind in silence.
Around the edge of the world
I draw a circle of emptiness,
lock myself within it,
and watch all other voids unfold.
I wonder—
are you emptiness,
or am I?
If not, then perhaps
every soul is nothing but empty.
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 2:45 AM UTC
There is nothing to ask of anyone,
nothing left to claim.
I sift through the fragments of memory;
whatever I find, I leave behind in silence.
Around the edge of the world
I draw a circle of emptiness,
lock myself within it,
and watch all other voids unfold.
I wonder—
are you emptiness,
or am I?
If not, then perhaps
every soul is nothing but empty.
This poem reflects the quiet weight of emptiness—the solitude that arises when nothing is asked of anyone and nothing is left to claim. It explores the fragile boundaries we draw around ourselves, the silent fragments of memory we leave behind, and the existential realization that perhaps emptiness resides in everyone. A meditation on isolation, reflection, and the void that binds us all.
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