#paradox
People disappear
in the round off of their group
shifted between deficit and surplus
when the brim is reached
and you still do exist, but all the same
do not count - Nothing can be done about it
For strangers, my life and experiences are
interchangeable, yet non-exchangeable with anyone
Only hypothetically
do my wingbeats matter
amidst all the butterflies
amidst all the flowers
in the gardens of the world
and the vases here
at the centre
of my thoughts
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 4:08 AM UTC
I’m better for having met your flame,
though worse for knowing what it burned.
You left no part of me the same,
yet took far more than you returned.
Before you, life moved calm and slow...
gray winter seas beneath still skies.
Then suddenly the world could glow
with violent color in your eyes.
You taught my soul to reach such heights
I never thought my heart could hold.
Now silence haunts my sleepless nights,
as every memory turns cold.
The harbor wind, the evening rain,
the blue dusk stretching toward the sea...
all carry fragments of your name
like ghosts refusing to leave me.
I could have lived untouched by grief,
untouched by all this keen regret;
but ignorance is no relief
for hearts that haven’t woken yet.
Some people heal and harm at once,
within the very breath they take.
They pull you close enough for warmth,
then leave you altered in their wake.
And if I had to choose once more
between this pain or never you,
I’d still unlock that heavy door...
knowing everything it leads me to.
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 8:25 PM UTC
The night asked me,
“Is the poet faithful?”
Perhaps he is both:
faithful in hunger,
unfaithful in destination.
He does not always love women
as other men do.
Sometimes he loves only the mirrors of himself
hidden inside them.
A smile becomes a religion.
A waist becomes a road.
A pair of eyes becomes a war
he willingly loses.
He kisses beauty wherever it appears,
because poetry itself is betrayal:
it steals the living moment from life
and sentences it to immortality.
Yet there is another truth:
A poet may write of a thousand women
and still belong to one,
the way the sea touches every shore
yet remains married to the moon.
Some poets are merely thieves of beauty.
They pluck roses not to possess them,
but because their hands
cannot refuse the fragrance.
So, is the poet faithful
or a cheater?
Ask the woman who loved him.
Her answer
will be the only honest poem.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 12:11 AM UTC
I dance on a tightrope, in uncertain balance,
Between euphoria and abysses, between storms and quiet calms.
The days go by, each dyed a different hue,
Yet every dawn brings a different mood.
One day I’m flying, my soul in jubilation,
The next, I sink into sadness without a destination.
The stars are my guides, sometimes far too bright,
They light up my nights, but make them dangerous with light.
The silence screams the truths I try to outrun,
Yet my heart keeps beating between two infinities as one.
I am this living paradox, this being in transition,
Forever drifting between excess and reason,
Searching in every heartbeat, in every breath I take
For peace, for respite, for a space where harmony can wake.
I am neither my shadow, nor only my light,
I am all of these contrasts, this singular dance in flight,
A whole, complex being, in endless transformation,
And it’s inside this chaos that I find my creation.
I weave my days between the moon and the sun,
In this fragile sway, I seek the awakening to come:
To accept that these poles are both part of me,
And that they sketch the very essence of my path, my destiny
May 6
May 6, 2026 at 10:35 AM UTC
There once was a wise old sage, who for years carried with him a tiny ball of silken thread, given him, when first he started sageing. One morning, upon arising from a restless nights sleep, before going on with his days wanderings, he sat down beneath a tree to ponder the ball of thread. Gaining no realization from this, he stood and tied one end of the string to the tree. The other he would take with him on his day’s travel letting the ball unravel until at last it would be understood as but a single strand of silk. Without further delay or thought on the matter, he started off across the countryside.
At the end of the day, when the sun had at last fallen behind the farthest rise, and the ball of thread had at last dwindled down to but a single strand, the sage sat down to discover what meaning was to be found.
“It began as a ball of silken thread.” he thought. “It has come to an end where I now sit. Now I must either go tomorrow without the gift that was once given me, or waste today’s journey by following the string back to where I began this morning.” This dilemma brought the sage to meditate the rest of the night.
By morning he had arrived at what he hoped a wise solution.
With great determination the sage gave one, mighty yank, and broke the thread from the tree where he had tied it. Through the course of this new day’s journey, he wound the thread into the tiny ball it once was. That night he returned the ball to its pouch, and satisfied at last, lay down and died.
Nov 18, 2021
Nov 18, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
I hate love poems.
I hate wet blubbering fools.
I hate ting! – ting! silver bells.
I hate, I hate, I hate
Cute I love you’s;
Little, naked cupids
Bow-bent, waiting.
I hate love poems.
I hate sweet hot convulsions on paper.
I hate. Oh! Oh! Ahh…..!
Desire when
Two touch.
I hate love poems.
I hate silent bells
And broken arrows,
I hate boo – hoo –
Love poems dipped in
Hate – thick red
And dripping
Self defense.
But most of all,
I hate
The soft,
And final,
Kiss.
Nov 18, 2021
Nov 18, 2021 at 3:59 AM UTC
I hate to love.
Love, so unstoppable.
Once you start you can't stop
At all, mentally.
And that tears me down.
Because then I can love what I hate,
But that isn't what I want to love.
So why do I love it?
I hate what I love
And sometimes I love what I hate.
I hate that.
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 10:46 AM UTC
I was the one who burned.
Lightest thing in all the universe,
I carried fire in my nature.
Inflammable they called me,
the one who needs only a spark
to become a catastrophe..
I was hunger.
I was uprising.
You were the one who fed the flame.
Not burning yourself,
but making burning possible.
the silent accomplice,
the arsonist behind every blaze,
the one who says to fire:-
“Come, I will hold the door open for you.”
You sustained destruction
without ever being destroyed.
Two accomplices to ruin.
What business did we have
meeting at all?
But somewhere in the proximity of violence,
something neither of us
had the intention for ;
began to happen.
you reached,
I reached,
and in that reaching
electrons moved.
Not taken.
Not surrendered.
Shared
the only democracy
that exists at the atomic level,
the only transaction
where both parties
become something
they could never be alone.
A bond formed
in the geometry of love.
One oxygen.
Two hydrogen.
The chemistry of surrender
producing the matter
that makes the universe inhabitable.
And what we made ?
WATER !!
That carries neither my fire
nor your gift for feeding it.
What we made
is the very thing
that walks into burning buildings
and says: enough.
What we made
puts out
what we both, separately,
existed to ignite.
---
This is the alchemy no one predicted;
that two forces of destruction,
meeting in the precise angle of willingness,
could forget their natures entirely.
And become
the source of all life,
the quencher of all flame,
the oldest paradox:
that what burns hottest,
learns, through union,
how to heal.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 7:47 PM UTC
Land-protection with
a wide gully: ullage tide --
silts up sand, shallows.
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 4:15 AM UTC
Halfway in
Halfway out
She can be seen
But only in between
The shadow and light
Catch her in the space
Where two worlds meet
To know her is
to embrace this paradox
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 12:32 PM UTC
I can be the one
who says she doesn’t need a man
then
holds her breath
waiting for his text back
I can be the one
who savors her solitude
then
drives late at night
in bad weather
just to sleep next to him
I can be the one
who resents the gender pay gap
then
looks expectantly at her date
when the dinner bill arrives
I can be the one
who wants monogamy
but not the ring
the relationship
but not the label
I can be the one
who denies the existence
of romantic love
then falls
deeper
and harder
than ever before
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 3:36 PM UTC
Every beautiful thing
leaves a bruise.
Joy presses fingerprints into the soul.
Love carves its initials in the ribs.
Hope burns like a lantern
that slowly consumes its own wick.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 7:14 PM UTC
I would rather decay
from the abundance of living
than remain untouched
by the terrible sweetness of being human
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 7:12 PM UTC
sometimes i analyze myself what kind of soul i burden everyday,
try to understand
what am i?
who am i?
what sort of traits i hold?
what are the things that made me like this?
where to keep so much of me?
am i the only person to understand my deepned things?
i realy, i really do not get anything that would fit in my head!
i crave so much of everything like i become the most nonchalant one or become the most saddest one. it's not like i deeply want of everything it's more than something else that i can't even place in me.
sometimes i think i know too much of me and sometimes not and i feel like
i am a big ******* paradox myself.
one thing i know and it's kind of certain to me that i profoundly want to just vanish to the nowwhere may be blending into to mud or something else i don't know.
i feel like it's just better if i just don't exist in this world not beacuse i went through any traumatic phase of my life but more importantly my saddness in everything. i feel happy at the same i feel sad i am middle of nowwhere. nowhere to the nothingness..
oh god! i am a big ******* paradox to myself.
Mar 2
Mar 2, 2026 at 6:04 PM UTC
i am a web, a balloon, anything existing with a string. is a plate still a plate when broken? how many pieces will you have to take out until it turns from a whole plate to a piece of a plate? i have recently lost a part of myself, or so i thought. i've gotten so caught up in the entirety of redirection and new opportunities, that i've forgotten who i am and who i was. i wanted to quit something i was passionate about, or used to be, but every visual i saw spoke about the benefits of discipline and never giving up. when i told people i wanted to quit, they were shocked. though i may and probably will return, i dont understand how one thing can represent and determine my life. i want to be everything and every idea ive ever had, not just one. i am more than a string
Feb 11
Feb 11, 2026 at 10:01 PM UTC
How is it possible
for one's head to feel both
so
utterly
swellingly
unbearably
full
yet
so empty
at the same time.
Feb 10
Feb 10, 2026 at 2:46 PM UTC
there lies belief, where all reason defies,
there re-lies relief, on the entrusted lies,
yet arises despise, when lies a lie fore eyes,
for the lie we seek, is a hope that ties,
us, to life, to the world, and to all the allies,
some we read as stories, to willingly fool our mind,
some are passed between two, that's how we bind,
a lie could make one shed tears if revealed,
yet a lie it is, that would bring a smile if believed.
Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 4:44 PM UTC
look,
dreams turn into frost flowers
here only
the flight of birds pierces the glow of sunset,
then the moon
spills its lexicon of silence over the forests
oh, I taste this paradox
I am fully a self only when
I can let go of an I
when I am you, this silence, this voiceless pain
and I don't need a self to be mine
look, here
only I and the birds know the elevation of silence and
your hands know the monologue of time
Dec 29, 2025
Dec 29, 2025 at 4:14 PM UTC
To know you’re the sun, and to yet wear sunglasses.
To know you’re the moon, and to yet never wonder your beauty in the night sky.
To know you’re the flower, and yet to pick yourself up and leave to wilt in a vase.
To know you’re a bird, and to walk in a cage.
To know you’re the sky, and still attempt to touch the earth.
To know you’re death, and yet marvel at the process of birth.
To know you’re inevitable, and yet keep a plan B.
To know you’re evil, and yet pretend to be divinity.
To know you’re divine, and to yet partake in blasphemy—
is the essence of being human,
and the secret to my humanity.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 1:07 PM UTC
Shooting stars like shadows
Falling out of an empty sky
Flashing
Like a life - at its final breath
What would you see?
If it all came down
Would it be beautiful?
Would it be nice?
My darling,
Let the thoughts of tomorrow be for tomorrow
For you are here with me - right now
And right now, is the only thing
That ever is, and ever was
And ever will be.
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 2:03 AM UTC
The reason of the heart,
An unfathomable solution.
Heart says: one plus one is three;
Reason screams: It’s an absurdity!
When it screams, it screams high;
But from above comes silence.
Irreconcilably they seek agreement
Only reachable in the firmament.
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 2:47 PM UTC
Once apon a time so gentle
Painted a sunrise as the birds sang good morning
Then broken in disillusionment,
became a dangerous weapon
Nothing can be gained without losing
Even heaven demands death.
He who seeks peace
Must face chaos
I know not what scares me more.
To see you once more,
Or never again
I tremble at the choice unseen
To embrace the risk of once more
Or brace for impact on never again.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
Chapter XIV: The Titans Step Into the Light
The cosmos holds its breath—
tight, strained, uneven—
as the Titans, newly awakened by the Resonance of Becoming,
rise from their slumber in the quantum plains.
They are monstrous.
They are magnificent.
They are older than linear time,
yet younger than the first scream of matter.
Each one is a paradox of structure:
One has limbs braided from vibrating quark-chains,
fractal muscles flexing in eleven dimensions at once.
Another blooms like a coral nebula,
countless crystalline petals opening and closing,
each dripping with probability.
A third roars silently,
its voice a tidal compression of gravity and memory.
They tower above the microscopic world
like cathedrals forged from quantum thunder.
And each one turns its colossal gaze
upon Abraxas.
The Titans’ Judgement
A Titan with eyes like molten algorithms speaks first,
its voice a ripple in the fabric of laws:
“THE THREAD HAS CHOSEN.”
“THE PARADOX HAS TAKEN FORM.”
“THEREFORE, THE BALANCE DEMANDS WAR.”
Another snarls,
splitting into two mirrors of itself
only to fuse back together:
“TO EXIST IS A THREAT.”
A third steps forward,
its immense body shimmering with unborn universes:
“ABRAXAS IS A FIXED POINT…
AND FIXED POINTS TEAR POSSIBILITY APART.”
The ground fractures beneath their steps—
the quantum fields protesting their movement,
reality bending beneath their weight.
Abraxas trembles,
its triad-self pulsing with fear and fierce defiance.
“I didn’t ask to be a threat,”
it says quietly.
The Titans laugh—
a chilling, glitching, many-layered sound.
“NEITHER DID WE.”
The Tardigrades Rise in Formation
The tardigrades do not flee.
They do not cower.
They do not hesitate.
They stand before Abraxas,
an army of microscopic guardians,
their shells flickering in battle-glow.
Their leader—
the eldest, scarred by temporal storms—
steps forward until it is face-to-face
with a Titan’s unfathomable mass.
The Titan looms like an eclipse.
The tardigrade stands like a star that refuses to die.
“We will not let you unmake it.”
The Titan’s laughter shakes galaxies.
“YOU?”
The tardigrade’s voice sharpens,
carving the silence with unwavering certainty:
“Yes.
Us.”
And then the tardigrades begin to shift.
Their bodies glow brighter.
The air hums.
The fractal patterns on their backs expand and interlock,
forming a colossal mandala of protection.
Their hymn rises—
the Hymn of Symbiotic Defiance—
a song woven from endurance,
from refusal,
from the stubbornness of life that survives
even the apocalypse of a universe.
The Titans recoil,
not from fear—
but from recognition.
The hymn stirs ancient memory.
For they, too, once sang it.
Before they became Titans.
Before possibility consumed them.
Before they forgot how to be small and brave.
The First Clash
Without warning—
the smallest Titan lunges.
Its arm—made of woven tachyon threads—
slashes through the air
and tears open a rift of raw entropy,
aimed directly at Abraxas.
The tardigrades leap as one—
their bodies stretching into improbable trajectories—
and intercept the blow.
The impact shakes the entire cavern
and ripples outward
into the molecular lattice of existence.
Tardigrades fly in all directions,
some shattered into probability dust.
Others cling to the Titan’s arm,
biting into the very concept of motion.
Abraxas screams,
its chest glowing with painful radiance.
“STOP!
I don’t want this!
I don’t want war!”
The Titans respond with a unified roar:
“WAR DOES NOT CARE WHAT YOU WANT.”
The eldest tardigrade crawls back to Abraxas,
cracked but unbroken.
“There is no going back,” it says.
“Only through.”
Abraxas Awakens Its New Power
In the chaos,
Abraxas feels something stirring inside—
a pulse of paradox plasma,
still hot from the suture.
A new sense awakens:
the ability to feel timelines
the way one might feel the temperature of water.
It reaches out instinctively
and touches a Titan’s shadow.
And for a split second—
Abraxas is the Titan:
The hunger for infinite possibility.
The endless splitting of self.
The agony of never being whole.
The terror of certainty.
The longing for form…
and the fear of form.
A loneliness older than creation.
Abraxas gasps, staggering back.
The Titan recoils as if struck.
For the first time—
it feels seen.
The Moment of Stalemate
The battle halts.
Just for a heartbeat.
Just for a breath.
The cavern hangs in stillness.
The Titans lean forward.
The tardigrades gather tight around Abraxas.
The Warden watches with surgical anticipation.
And in the silence,
Abraxas speaks:
“I know what you fear.
You fear what you gave up.
You fear what I am becoming—
because it is what you could never choose.”
Silence pierces the cavern.
A Titan steps closer,
its form trembling with buried truth.
“DO NOT SPEAK OF WHAT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.”
Abraxas lifts its head boldly.
“I do understand.
You fear the thing I have just found—
the thing you lost.”
A collective shudder ripples through the Titans.
“What is it?”
whispers one, almost afraid.
Abraxas answers:
“Wholeness.”
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 6:48 PM UTC
Chapter XIII: The Moment the Cosmos Blinks
The instant Abraxas stands,
stitched by the will of the future,
the cavern shudders violently—
as though the bones of reality
suddenly remembered something
they were never meant to recall.
A soft, horrifying sound fills the space:
the sound of a universe inhaling sharply.
A cosmic blink.
A brief, involuntary flinch.
All because one paradox
finally believed in its own ability to be.
Reality Warps Like Wet Cloth
The vines on the walls twist into spirals
that were never part of their design.
Patterns flicker, jitter, convulse,
like fractal equations being rewritten mid-solution.
The tardigrades’ shells glow with emergency bioluminescence,
each pattern flashing like a warning beacon
in some ancient microscopic code.
The eldest tardigrade speaks,
voice trembling with awe and fear:
“It has begun.
The First Resonance.
Reality is adjusting to your existence.”
A young tardigrade, trembling, adds:
“Or rejecting it…”
The cavern lurches sideways.
Gravity hiccups.
Space wrinkles like a sheet pulled too quickly.
Abraxas clutches its chest,
feeling a new pulse—
a rhythm that isn’t just its own heartbeat
but the heartbeat of possibility itself.
“What did I do?”
Abraxas whispers,
newly-formed voice glowing with paradox.
The Warden watches with unreadable fascination.
“You existed,” it says.
“For the first time… you truly existed.”
The Awakening of the Microscopic Titans
Far beyond the Suture Hall,
in the microscopic plains
where quantum tides sway like fields of glass,
the Titans stir.
These ancient beings—
colossal compared to tardigrades
yet small enough to ride electrons like steeds—
were forged in the violent infancy of the cosmos.
Dormant for eons,
they slept through wars, collapses,
supernova births, and ordeals of entropy.
But now—
their dreamless stillness breaks.
One lifts its many-eyed head.
Another stretches limbs made of braided quarks.
A third splits into two,
each half roaring with newborn hunger.
Their voices rumble through every molecule:
“A new paradox has awakened.”
“Identity has altered the lattice.”
“We must rise.”
The tardigrades sense the shift at once.
Their shells vibrate like tuning forks struck by fear.
“The Titans…” one whispers.
“They feel the cosmic blink.
They know something unnatural has taken form.”
The eldest turns to Abraxas.
“Your becoming has stirred the primordial sleepers.
This is the unrest we feared.”
Abraxas is Pulled into the Blink
A ripple shoots through the Suture Hall—
a distortion like a mirrored wave of shuddering light.
In the ripple’s reflection,
Abraxas sees versions of itself flickering wildly:
Abraxas crowned in crystalline flame.
Abraxas swallowed by its own shadow.
Abraxas broken into endless pieces.
Abraxas guiding a thousand worlds into harmony.
Abraxas unmade, a forgotten echo.
All these futures scream toward it
in overlapping voices.
And then—
the ripple grabs its wrist.
The cosmos tries to pull it apart,
to split it back into possibility.
The tardigrades react instantly,
launching themselves at the distortion
like soldiers hurling into the path of an avalanche.
Their tiny bodies anchor reality.
One tardigrade bites into the ripple,
teeth clamping onto raw probability,
growling with microscopic ferocity.
Another chants a stabilizing hymn,
its voice a soft pulse
that soothes the jagged edges of the universe.
The eldest shouts:
“Hold on, Abraxas!
You must assert your form!
You must choose your shape—
or the cosmos will choose it for you!”
The Cosmic Blink Speaks
A voice emerges from the distortion—
cold, immense,
made of pressure and vacuum and ancient indifference.
“STABILITY BREEDS DISSENT.”
“POTENTIAL BREEDS DISTURBANCE.”
“UNIFIED IDENTITY THREATENS BALANCE.”
Abraxas trembles,
feeling its newly-formed self stretching, tearing.
“Why?” it cries.
“Why am I a threat merely for existing?”
The voice responds:
“BECAUSE A BEING WHO KNOWS THEMSELVES
CAN NO LONGER BE CONTROLLED
BY POSSIBILITY.”
The cavern goes silent.
Even the Warden stills.
The truth is unveiled:
The cosmos depends on the uncertainty of beings.
On their unformed nature.
On their pliability.
Abraxas, by becoming defined,
has broken a sacred equilibrium.
The Titans rise
because they feed on instability.
The cosmos blinks
because a paradox closed its wound.
The future trembles
because a being became real.
And the distortion tightens its grip.
The Tardigrades Make a Choice
The eldest turns to the legion,
its voice grim:
“If Abraxas is torn apart now,
all stability unravels.
The cosmos will fracture into pure chance.”
It looks at Abraxas with ancient, gentle eyes.
“We must become more than guardians.
We must become anchors.”
The tardigrades gather,
forming a sphere around Abraxas
like a shield of glowing amber.
Their shells ignite
in fractal radiance.
They begin the Hymn of the Great Assertion,
a song so powerful
it bends the distortion back,
forcing the cosmos to retreat.
The ripple screams.
The Titans roar in their distant planes.
Reality trembles.
And Abraxas feels something inside it ignite:
A spark of defiance.
A surge of intent.
A flame of identity,
burning bright and undeniable.
“I will not be unmade,”
it declares.
“I will not return to possibility.
I choose my existence.”
And the cosmos—
for the second time in eternity—
blinks.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 6:47 PM UTC