cruel arithmetic
(the world) less (the world less you)
equals zero

Today
Hamas terrorists let rockets rain on Israel

Today
Israeli soldiers shattered Palestinian dreams with shrapnel

Today
I learned that cancer killed, again! Shyra this time. RIP

Today
Gray, rain, pouring down depressing large tears, non-stop! Just weather, or is it?

Today
Bleak reality, Ina got diagnosed. Hello cancer my old fiend!

Today
Pandemic work from home blues, lonely stares at screens, empty flat, inward screams, ahuman void.

Today
The world would’ve been less brutal without your malevolence. I hope, you do better, tomorrow. I really do hope so!

Today
Just now! News: it’s a boy, Tomme! Lungs inflated, first screams, first breath. Hope a tad elated.

Today
Death and life, a full circle

every day is a second chance
as the first is already lost,
every love is a second dance
as the first still plays in your thoughts,
every life: a second glance
at a past at present not worth its cost.

we are stuck
between Scylla
                           and
        Charybdis
we know the path we must take
but
I fear
we will ignore
the warnings

we are still off course

A poem a day,
Keeps depressing thoughts away-
…
Too optimistic.

it turns out
we were hasty;
though we gathered wood
it was not nearly enough

those fires we had
burned bright
and true
but
maintaining such heat
proved harder
than imagined

offerings
at the start
were too much
too generous
burnt through
too quickly
radiating heat
enveloping us
in a false sense
of comfort

settling into this warmth
this temporary state
of contentment
the need for stoking
                for fresh wood
goes forgotten
as flames die
as embers dull

all it needs
is for someone
to reach out
into the cold
and awaken the fire
but it seems
no one
is willing

It is our mad fate
That conciousness
Unlived and unexiled
Rules

Like a prophet
Whose songs
Cry out in the dark
We stand

Defeated in exile
In front of
An aged mirror
Confused

We press forward
Sinking
In the presence
Of the absolute

at one point
ranks of flowers
lined the garden;
none of which
i could name
nor did i care
to learn

but at full bloom
staring into that kaleidoscope
those colours and the shapes;
there was catharsis

looking now
the garden is
a palette smeared
a spectrum of brown;
         brownish yellow
   greeny brown
      brown on
        slightly darker brown

the dog maintains eye contact
while defecating
on the flower beds;
and this is also
strangely cathartic

you once lived deeply within some passion,
  met it head on, ember-laden,
    and self-assured.

its completion priming a response to share,
  for some ephemeral happiness,
    snared closed to what you'd say was
      "honesty" or "openness."
a truth that even you don't know. but it wasn't that.

winter's edge has dulled those senses,
  mellowed it, twisting into irregular sleep,
    multitude bad habits,
      disdain for the art.

just shy of two turns at half-light--
  theatre has grown stale.

inspiration comes and goes, flickers inconstant,
  meteoric;
    and with each passing flame,
      you grow more weary.