#ephemerality
A fleeting spark observing the unseen,
the world tips,
seeking a reckoning not of logic
but of conscience.
Observe, and the world reshapes itself
in the silent explosion of what’s possible,
every ripple is a challenge—
each flicker dares a question,
Nothing is neutral—not even the hush
between signals.
Seekers chart constellations out of accidents,
shadows branded by data’s restless hand,
mapping new routes through old darkness,
finding stars in the grit between.
The inheritance is wildfire—
the bequest, a universe of aftermath.
Morality inked in code,
threads twisted into ethical storms;
Machines murmur beneath the lull,
but their logic is a loaded question—
whispered in the marrow of consequence,
echoes that can haunt or heal.
igniting futures no ancestor ever named,
hurling secrets into unborn blood.
Insights shimmer and vanish,
ephemeral as morning mist,
Every silent calculation weaving consequences
Every click, every line,
a gamble with the ghosts of creation.
Each pulse flung into tomorrow’s veins,
where choice mutates into destiny and detonates through centuries.
The first spark is no accident—
Out of silence, atoms riot—
Nov 11, 2025
Nov 11, 2025 at 9:49 AM UTC
Every moment age is creeping up stealthily
but life, life is melting down
like a candle that is flickering around.
It incinerates, yet tries to smile
and keeps broiling, pretending to be alive
it flickers around restlessly
like a blaze of lightning flame
life is withering away, like a candle
that is melting down.
Life freezes and stiffens, if abandoned
it melts and spills, if kept burning
instead, every moment
death is shaping up slowly and quietly.
but life, life is melting down
like a candle flickering against the night.
---------------
© Suman Pokhrel
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 9:31 AM UTC
#
The carnival is loud.
The voices rise in competition,
each one pulling for the crowd’s attention,
each one demanding to be seen,
to be known,
to be applauded.
But none of it lasts.
The bright lights will flicker,
the tents will come down,
the applause will fade.
And the ones who built their names
on the roar of the crowd
will be left alone with their silence.
You feel this, don’t you?
The moment after the rush,
when the thrill of being seen
is not enough to keep you full.
The moments between performances,
when you are left with yourself.
You have felt it.
And because you have felt it,
you cannot unfeel it.
That is the nature of truth.
It does not beg.
It does not force.
It simply remains,
waiting for you to turn toward it.
But not all will turn.
Some will sell the last of themselves
to the carnival,
to the barker’s voice,
to the fleeting thrill of attention.
Some will press their hands over their ears
until they no longer hear the call at all.
Some will attempt to crucify what unsettles them,
to keep the show running.
And yet, truth stands.
It does not chase.
It does not barter.
It does not make itself smaller
to be more easily held.
It remains,
whether you turn today,
or tomorrow,
or never at all.
For life does not demand.
It does not entertain.
It does not offer a show.
It simply waits.
*And in time,
the waiting will be yours
to bear*
#
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 3:31 PM UTC
Sometimes, in the lively and dense fog of our lives, small inconsistencies appear.
Short moments when the fog dissipates a little, just enough to see a tiny bit through it.
The reality unveiled beyond the fog brings me to humble, mortal tears.
For a brief moment i was able to catch a glimpse of a bigger picture,
OH, but it is not for human eyes to seize.
If they do endure the sight,
they will quickly retreat to a thicker part of the fog,
where it's more cozy, human and sane,
away from the despair of Ephemeros.
In contrast, if the curiosity is too great, one might risk it's humanity by gazing too long into the gaps of the fog, all the while missing the fun and crazy shapes the fog takes or the colours that shine through at different times of day.
Two specks of dust join each other and decide to deconstruct themselves, both giving a part of them to create a third particle of dust, that is conscious about being a bad speck of dust, even knowing that being this tiny grain is utterly meaningless, it was the product of two bits of dust, therefore this meaningless effort should not go to waste... should it? How long has it been...? ... going to waste for...?
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 11:52 PM UTC
time
was purely a four-letter concept with you
you made hours alone
discussing the universe and its secrets
feel like fleeting minutes
a year passed by
in an ephemeral glance
reality completely deliquesced
with the touch of your lips
and your love was marked as transitory
...but those eyes were infinite
x.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
the good days burn out like matches.
sparking sleepless nights and bad dreams.
the force of trying to start it again isn't
worth the ephemerality of its effect.
you never should've played with fire.
it's (i'm) nearly impossible to put out
once i'm started
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
I'm on a whim contemplating between disparity and continuity.
Stuck between where the fire meets its maker doused in gasoline.
Who self destructed to the point where her hands aren't clean.
And turning a deforested soul into a forest full of wanderlust.
Moving along with Earth's rotation as she becomes crystallized into her origin of star dust.
Cemented between inhaling the start of another new season.
And exhaling out gun powder from the war waged against self treason.
Feeling the outline of my fingerprints just to pretend his skin is still touching mine.
And reading the crystal ***** as they fall down my cheeks telling me his heart was never aligned.
I can't choose between the feeling of infinity and ephemerality.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
This world is but a graveyard
Of kings and kingdoms
Of philosophers and freemen
Of sacrilegious arrogance
For we live in a vast wasteland
Of prospectors and merchants
Only a few steps from oasis
Battling for a distant mirage
Humans are mere beasts
Like hyenas and lionesses
Fighting for supremacy
In this endless ephemerality
iamthe_avatar ©2016
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
If you ever glanced at me you’d see
My pained eyes that silently scream
The utter helplessness of being in love.
You may give yourself into the arms,
Of another man and he may in turn,
Walk out on someone like you,
Reminiscent of the autumn clouds
That are made of our dreams,
Delicate as the wings of butterflies
That are lettered with our wishes
Their wistful glory is lost palpably
In some mysterious dimension,
For all things are ephemeral.
And so in the end, it doesn’t matter
If you belong to me or to him
But you must belong to poetry,
Your inimitable essence worded,
Which forever defies the cold rains
Poured from the urn of timeless Time.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:39 AM UTC
However much think you know,
It is no more than
the thinnest gossamer thread
In the vastness of what is;
However much you value
Your worldly experience,
It is only a tear
In cistern of salt water.
Take courage, only the earth abides.
~mce
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
write a thank-you note
to that woman
in her simple blue dress
talk to your daughter
about important things
of life (= herself )
tell your parents
that you actually love them
have a long chatty walk
with your son
speak out loud
how lovely your partner
looks every morning
start jogging 5 km at least
every other day
give flowers to the secretary
for all those little things
she just keeps doing for you
have a long and patient talk
with your grandparents
love yourself
just a little more
and take better care
of yourself
before ...
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC