I take nothing seriously (as an old man) these days
myself--the least-have had too much of my own nonsense- hark!
nothing is certain, only the lacuna perennial--everything is in a flux
life, happenings and people add to one big question mark--

yet, I'm enamoured of this 'things are not
what they are or seem'--- the door to exploring is before me
that exultant feeling of being free in action and mind
the 'open sesame' to a brand-new mental territory--

in a pensive mood---in unguarded moments
I don't quite know what's the ideal thing to be
forget Einstein,  Shakespeare, Socrates, Wittgenstein
Newton, Goethe, Tolstoy, Sartre, Kant, Nietzsche, Keats, Shelley

they do me no good and my doubts they don't assuage
it's the searing existential 'the world and me'-
despite  the mocking mirage, , the clouded bleakness
the sneer that life exudes, I don't despair as I am free!