"lostness" poems
progressively irrelevant, i write.
each strike comes, reverberating chords
in chambers all my history reveals--
voices forge a living thought, steam quietly;
truth is spent confronting hidden dangers
that, when alight between the flicker awe
our fire-starting letters linger still
to question ashen marvels of, phoenixlike
enveloping that subtle being-as
annulled to meaninglessness tolled.
a bare encounter with the void leaves off,
no symbols rally convalescent winds
for shaping form amenable to time--
rather, my lostness leads to this, and dies.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
In a room full of emptiness I was sitting on my bed with my back resting against the wall. All my routine work was completed before time as usual and there I was sitting doing nothing, staring straight ahead on the wall which was colored blue. I had asked them to do so because I loved this color since it always exuded the stress in me, drained off the disturbing thoughts and opened gates for blissful ones. But they never came.
What came to conquer me was lostness. This lostness maybe is productive if one is lost in a good thought, or, in a world of the past or the future, or, in his own created world, creative or perhaps destructive or perhaps peaceful. But I was always lost in a blank world. A world, where nothing existed. A world where no one walked on the streets. A world where no music was played and due to that I couldn't imagine myself dance because of which I couldn't make new dance steps. A world where I couldn't see faces smiling, where colors existed in their pure mixed form, that is White.
But if I give a second thought, I am thinking all this, about what it feels to be blank.! So it shows I just used to think ******* when this beautiful world of blankness came to me where I can create whatever I want and whatever I like, where miracles can happen. Or maybe a world will take birth to be cradled in my thoughts showing me my desires, aims or maybe those facts that are necessary for me. All I needed was Concentration. But I didn't know how to do so. My brain was now an expert, a trained and professional one in being frivolous. And then I felt a pen fidgeting with my hand. Then my hand, with the help of the reflex sent by the brain who, this time, obeyed the conscience inside it, started translating the thoughts into words. Words, they always betrayed me before when I took their shelter. But that was my fault. I only took shelter widout any hint of giving them respect. But now as the two best friends, my hand and pen, were trending together to make history, these words had the tone of pride while residing themselves on paper, and their look was inspiring when read successively. A guilt always resides in me for the precious time I wasted being lost, but the content of overcoming that lag progressively always consoles the insides. Concentration is all you need for anything you want to do or have in your life. Beginner I am, but, I dont want to see the end. I would just like to enhance it as much as possible.
MH
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC
you know
when i first beheld the icy greyness
of this giant sepulchral building
a giantness of Empty
a giantness of unrecognised surreal faces
a giantness of being sorta kinda lost
a giant lostness of slamming into glass doors
hurriedly breaking out
to a place i wanted to know
when i first beheld that giantness
i had never thought
imagined felt conceived
hell i had it all figured out
in what i thought was a deep deep experience
i had never thought
it would be that crisp
that quick
the creepiness of mounting heartbeat
pounding like a drumbeat
rising out into the rosiness of dawn
full of a wisdom of it's own experience
that it would be that supple
lifting me with effortlessness
like a wave of adrenaline
rush; gushing into my
guts; breaking out like
a furious river bent on
flowing with the vastness of the ocean
and the innocence of the sky
i had never thought
that is how you have a Crush.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
The thing is, the lesson is, I survived.
Never mind the rust or the abandonment
or the sabotage or the self sabotage,
or the wandering in the wilderness,
bars and hitchhiking in the night,
the wrong turns and the right turns unrecognized,
or the helpers and healers, the jacklegs,
quacks, shamen and priests.
Never mind the things that came undone,
and the constant rearranging of fate
or God’s insistence in letting me stew
in my own juices. Never mind
the arrows or thorns or innocent bystanders
content to watch me bleed, those who
see me as entertainment or suspect.
Never mind the constant need for maintenance,
the broken parts, the ones I could fix
and the ones I could not,
the depression, the fear, the fight,
the checkered past, a perfect target
for any who care to shoot.
Never mind all of it. The parts that recovered
and the parts that never will.
The blood shed! So much of it.
So many tears. So much lostness,
darkness and fire. The wars. The surety
that you were never made for the world you live in,
the anger
I felt, uncomfortable with it every time it rises, and
the anger
aimed at me, a thing more comfortable to you,
more familiar,
but no less weaponized,
Never mind all of it.
I survived.
I found love. I gave love.
Some things I did, mattered.
At times, there is joy.
Don’t tell me there is no God.
I know better.
I survived.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 9:09 AM UTC
Oh my lady
Your hair
enlightens my world
as sun drawing water
Your smile
makes me blessed
as a newborn child
Your eyes
I get lost in the blue of eyes
as depths of ocean
You
keep me from
my darkness
my death part of life
my lostness
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Straying at the horizon she was, when I looked at her,
My prolonged desire started breathing with a stutter,
I could see her cuddled close to herself,
Her eyes filled with lostness but strong inside,
Cause shes thinking too deep inside,
A cupid in between came and struck an arrow with his bow.
I dont even know her much but still my eyes look at her with forever longing,
Is my soulmate spreading her arms to me calling.?
She carries a me inside her from before reincarnation, ah and look at that smile,
As if taking my worries whenever smiling at me for a while.
I am afraid of losing her now, but, I havent even have her trust gained,
Even if she goes away ignoring my silent but promising love, My heart is already tattooed by her name.!
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
bleak darkness and its measure:
squandering the light
no definitions
no spectral haze
no inhibitions
its onerous labor is one
with me.
live life at the edge of the fall.
holding a hand
fallibly.
live alone, love alone —
these things pulse with strength
in singleness, even the glances
of prying neighbors are sequestered
reduced to sealed shut, hermetic,
no sight or hindsight.
i'll run to where the sunlight is
and wish for the moon, slumber
like a dead log adrift in the current.
buying myself love and selling its pleasures to defunct markets.
trying to repair what is beyond salvation,
trying to amalgamate what is perpetually
scarred, sundered.
clangorous *** of metal, herding jeep
and riotous chariots; mad men fill
the lines waiting for encumbrance,
bardic in the streets of Marilao
hungry for something:
give me a blank piece of paper
and i will try to reinvent the world
with impunity and lostness.
the world gives back such awry stare
and all imperative darkness reigns
supreme, mine are all emergencies
as shadows are succored not,
retained in their caliginous thrones.
living alone
yet not so much alone.
the dog outside does not bark anymore.
the well-placed gnome of stone outside
stares stonily across the thick space.
the nosy neighbor does not meddle
through the rusted ocher grills.
the old moon wanes outside
as the lift of light sways to where
there are no disappearances.
somewhere in the metropolitan there
is a derby of fools and all mirth;
i wish myself there and curse my presence
right then.
work does not fill me anymore,
money does me no good. my soul
bangs the walls and slams the doors
it threatens to leave without auguries,
and demands a new sense of necessity.
tonight, i will go out, drink at a local pub
and crawl towards the ajar door of
my father's car. smoke will caterwaul
the pressing scenes of the vicinities
crumbling at the tremor of clocks;
i will open my dresser and discover
all books dissipated, some naked
in relished pages, others abeyant.
the curtain can fall later,
and the night too, falter evenly
widely spread across the sky.
— all is broken.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
*Who am I?
Where am I?
What happened?
Why is everything unfamiliar?
I don't understand,
Why cant I remember anything?
Everything is a blur,
The world is scaring me.
My mind is blank,
My heart is pounding,
My head is aching,
I can't remember.
My identity is now gone,
I've lost my memory,
I now live in lostness,
Forever wondering.*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
transcendent it was the first time
when it was of faint memory to touch
but voluminously told, exacting itself
like the pretense of the heaviest pages
the curve of your face the entry of light
through momentary indulgence
nerves their city buoys and the pedestrians
salt of skin in intense heat begging for details,
ways to sewerage of mind and previous blunders
and the purest landscapes of feeling,
the underpasses of eyelids where glances hit
first, stalk swiftly – to wait underneath their
shade in the fleeting Maytime sun
coming back with renewed fervor, remembering
that from there, waiting in that margin,
there are things that may only strike a potential
but never learned, memorized, collapsed into
the absolute, and that lostness is imperative
to the finding –
the river of eyes where pilgrims are in transit,
well-constructed like the mausoleum that
keeps its secret of hills and cathedrals
kept unmarred in the silence of your refusal,
pulled out to be nailed taut into origin
the blankness of your face taken as mechanism
of marvel – to whoever god drew lines on your face
and to whoever foolish wanderer would dare traverse
your collapsible bridges, the sonorous depth
of your being when back against the dash
of beating back to senseless origins,
your name similar to the prepared countenance
of Manila, passers-by in awe of your slow Moon
unraveling behind curtains for showerheads,
humming behind, a conversant tune
where not one being ignored and it was true
to the form of first whispers
this whole new world mapped out
made naked to the twisted augur of shadow
reared by light through innocence,
a whole city I know but cannot touch.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
*we were walking
in a dark and empty city
we were looking
helpless and for pity
we were seeing
places for us two
even though i'm not so sure
if you could see them too
i looked into a window
and guess what i saw
it was not your name
on the television screen
but it was mine, my lostness
what caused me a heart attack
the words did not came out
all of a sudden everything went black
because of the title 'missed persons'
and you were not beside me
you were not beside me anymore
in panic i started to look around
and guess what my eye found
there, on the end of the street
i saw someone running
a black shape
and i'm sure it was you
searching for the horizon*
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
Hell I've seen it,
lived it, and those
there unaware
that that is it,
that maybe there
was some other place,
less crowded, less
oversubscribed.
The noise of the place,
the attitude of those there,
the total lack of concern
or care, no understanding
of love or the essence of love,
only lust, lust of body,
of wealth, of land, of all.
Hell I’ve seen it,
been there, known them there,
pushing stuff into the orifices
to escape from the place,
unaware they are,
on the treadmill
of the ever turning wheel,
always wanting
to feel feel feel.
The vanity of vanities,
how they look,
how they appear,
the tone of the body,
the length of nails or lashes,
the shape of the bodies,
the lustful appeal,
and the thump thump
of the beat, the dancing
of always moving feet,
and the gaze of long
everlasting despair
and the blankness
in their lostness
of their stare,
unaware they are there.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
Spitefully contorted prosecutions,
In the form of attachments,
Anchors tied to our ankles,
You know as well as I,
With fear, we wrought them,
Afraid we'd be left to rot without them.
"No man is an island" said someone.
But we are,
Floating,
Weighted,
Treading,
Storm waters, currents, possibilities,
Any direction,
No direction,
No shorelines,
No light,
Let alone an end to the tunnels we've dug out,
And lost our souls in.
In an ocean wide oblivion we reach for the smallest commiserations, you sought my condolences,
Grasping onto me for one steady breath,
And in what looked to you like your grip slipping,
Drowning without meaning,
I saw a slight slip, in a battle,
With a heaviness as ingrained as the need,
To survive,
To swim out to open sea.
But honesty begs me to tell you,
I never was a swimmer,
And I can only loose so much ground,
Before I, myself, start to drown.
Maybe, when your feet next touch,
I won't love in the form of metaphors,
Until then,
I'll see your vastness, raise you a lostness,
And challenge you,
to a race through everything,
Life can throw in our faces,
To change us,
Amaze us.
And maybe, just maybe,
I'll see you on some sunny day by the water,
Somewhere,
Drifting to me,
Finally in awe of the undertow,
You fought,
For so very long.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
I remember
deep down in the depths of forgotten dreams
so far away so long ago
memories of the forgotten beach
she came to me
it was then i found my princess of the sand
she came to me and i found in her eye
shutch a lostness in her her eyes
So I called her Princess of the sand.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
You were beautiful from afar
Reflecting a variety of hues
Attracting with swirls and swiggles
Personifying some pattern of character
You pulled me in
Allowing my heart to pump
Letting me admire you
Giving your lovely essence to me
You then opened up to me
Horrifying to me
Destroying your cover
Burning down my love
You were ugly up close
Terrifying under your mask
Juxtaposing to what you seemed
Lying to pull me in
You attract the gullible
Acting all pretty and nice
Dancing with their joy for you
Swallowing them
You then betray them
Abandoning your fake
Backstabbing their beliefs
Entrapping them in lostness
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
There's something weighing on me,
I don't know what it is.
Depression? Loneliness? Lostness?
Longing? Anger? Fear?
I thought I gave up trying to figure it out,
Now I just carry it around,
a monkey on my back.
I'm a hopeless loveless lover
moping about with all my futile
daydreams of romance.
I thought I gave up those adolescent hopes,
Now I just carry it around,
a flower in my pocket.
It's like some old cliche romantic movie,
The hero laying on his couch
alone with wine and jazz.
I don't think I like this flick
Somebody change the channel
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 10:38 PM UTC
Lostness creeps through my veins
Everyday stays the same
Each breath is confirmation of a world continued
Proof of existence unending
Walls are built to outsmart hurt
But what is inside stays inside
In a safe in your heart with a code only you know
Lies the secrets and denials of life, lived and survived
Here I go again
Why do I do this
The code remains unknown
A riddle to the discover
The answers to a world lost and forgotten
Anger burns my soul
Caged in the nightmare
Of dark mazes of the mind
And laughing, mocking faces in fences
Shadows clouds loneliness
Alone, so alone
This hell is built for one alone
Only space for spectators
Feelings are a different dialect
No way to explain or translate
The door slams shut hard
The darkness will hold on
To what is lost and never forgotten
Just hidden
No escape
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
Just when you think
your mind has accepted
a situation, it betrays you,
and asks: why have you
lost your legs and are blind?
And how will you cope
and gives a picture
of many mornings,
when you will wake up,
and see nothing again,
never see a sunset or sunrise,
never walk or dance again,
and it brings you down
and depresses you.
When I wake up
this morning,
that is how it is,
that numb darkness,
that disorientation,
that lostness.
I hear footsteps
on the ward,
near my bed.
Morning Grace,
how are you
this morning?
Who are you?
I ask.
Sister Wellings,
come to see how you are,
she says.
Depressed and fed up,
I say,
putting on a grumpy face,
staring towards where
I think she is.
Not surprised at that,
she says,
I'd be depressed
and fed up, too,
if I lost my legs
and was blind,
but you are a fighter,
Grace and will
overcome this just
give it time.
How much time?
I ask.
I sense her hands
move the bed covers back,
and her fingers
feel along
the bandaged leg stumps.
As long as it takes,
she says,
I was on a ward last month
where we had soldiers
wounded at Dunkirk.
Did you?
I say,
my boyfriend died at Dunkirk.
The thought wounds me,
and I almost choke
on the following words:
we were going marry.
O God, how sad
and now this,
she says,
as her fingers
take off the bandages.
I feel her hands
move over the stumps.
They're healing well,
she says,
soon have
the bandages off completely.
I recall Clive
touching my thighs,
and his fingers moving over
where she moves now.
Then what?
I say,
can I have artificial legs?
Of course,
I expect in time,
she says.
I try to imagine
walking on legs
not mine,
trying to balance
and trying to imagine
Philip watching me
and wondering what
he would think then,
and would he
then just be a man
amongst men?
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
Jakarta, 2016
some say the city is stippled with warnings
but nobody took the time to stop and sojourn deep
into the augur – there was no price to pay
and no song to be sung. only strange silence trying
to renounce the inscrutable weight of peril;
but a while ago, the tabloids and the papers are
dizzy with tribulations – each word assumed not sound
but force. the once Decembering wind transmogrified into
a penitent squall of smoke until the city was of a veiled mother
weeping behind the pretense of a shadow.
not much was said, or perhaps we were speaking
for such a long time, or we did not mean many things
but wounds and cuts and some lostness to which we all have
gone blind and deaf: coming in daylight’s whisper.
we cannot hear. all of which may not be revealed, like
a new phrasing that has not been conceived yet, and so we lay
in the silence for now, hushed by surrounding scenes,
in pursuit of heart.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
Dear ethereal nothing
Having become rather fond of never
You will find me in an aching muscle dream
The kind which lasts no more than fog
And clears like eyes with only blinks
Observe my lostness if you must
Find in it an ounce of head turn on my behalf
Or not, regardless
Look around and see this hollow earth
These steady hands which know no more of thought
Than your heart of dose of sound
A letter wish this also reads
But just in case your ethereal being has yet been freed
I end this lay and say lay down my pen
Addressing this to the cosmos through
And to no one in particular, this
I still do
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 10:52 AM UTC
this is the mind’s subtle configuration:
light, dark, vacuity. a metastasis of
sound from dispersions. except
a few stray birds alight umbilical tightwire.
i start to dream the clarity of something
comparable to
vertigo.
in that high place,
pouncing, daringly immense, this experiment
is in the mind’s operative. but you have no idea
what I am pertaining to, or what I am describing
to you, as I do not have maps to begin with, nor
do I have the blueprints to succinctly depict where
to go in case my lostness intersperses with yours:
that there is only precision in where we want to go,
but never where we are at present, and that in the long haul,
long-winded ruminations are waste of time
and that to have wallowed deep in the grovel of mirth,
to sully in superfluity, and to give no care as though
120 kilometers per hour in the expressway, shotgun,
hands spread in the sky towering like lampposts yearning
for a steady acquisition of light, the sounds that take the
form of apparitions and we scream, yes we scream,
with tenderness and rhetoric,
are, of course sensuous narratives
the heart measures in quatrain, in caesuras, in verse
and breadth ( and or so, the simplified electric delight
of a word’s sweet measure hurled to the rotund of ear as
to move close in speaking / whispering )
to permit ourselves to boldly gasp for breath
after the thrill of realizing the terseness of things,
that allow us to speak beautifully for ourselves.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
In our adventures
And in our travels
We kiss
As if to mark the memory
In the moment
Of blissful, lostness on those lips
She stops, smiles, leaves me there
She captures it, leaving me on the tracks
The wide smile is the glimpse
To her light
I've learned to follow along
I smile too, savor also
Declaring conquest of time itself
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
A dead, but ever alive, WhatsApp group.
With the dust of time piling over.
With time wrinkling it, but it never gets old.
After my storm we met again.
But I'd not be who I am without the storm.
What can I say?
We've changed to who we are.
Like tres, we grew up.
The unnatural and the natural, joined up
were and are
Our lives have expanded and burgeoned.
Boyfriends, girlfriends, and what not.
Jobs, studies, life's knots. They taste so sweet
if you know you are moving on
We've became what we were made for.
(really so? I'm still somewhat lost
but I know I'm found in this lostness now)
I will always keep you in my heart
as those who couldn't save me
but tried hard
away but together forever in a sense!
Lives knitted by chance!
But everything is chance in our lives
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 5:44 AM UTC
Did the wild devouring nature of chimerical universe
erase my 'kindling' lights?
The candles once guided me from
the stiff tunnels of darkness
to the upright oak tree standing on the apex of a verdant meadow
that is brimming with flowers under
the orange glittering sunlight waving through -
But the candles are now into broken pieces,
like the rotting shipwreck floating between
the two pitch-black reflecting mirrors
Standing alone
Looking at the universe above,
i ask myself,
Where do i go?
Trapped inside a mortal body
i long to escape from this lostness
as the broken compass without a magnetic needle is 'who' i am.
i try to breathe,
but the inverted tree of life
slowly submerges,
and submerges
into the horizontal mist of senseless void -
my eyes are wide-open as they are shut inside
my mouth gasps for life as it slowly suffocates inside
my ears receive sounds as they become noises inside
Standing alone
Looking at the universe above,
i ask myself
Where do i go
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 3:03 PM UTC
My mind is disconnected
While my body feels I don't feel
A vessel for a journey
Occasionally stirred by touch
Or deep lostness in my eyes
Like looking at a flame
Dancing dangerously for fleeting moments
Alive as it exhausts itself
In continual asphyxiation
How deep thought can go
Beyond animalistic instinct
Cascading like a stream
Wandering an infinite universe
Yearning for understanding
Of some greater purpose
Wanting of some feeling
That is sensed beyond senses
Yet the mind degenerates
With the vessel to which it is tied
Like the flame extinguished
After only a moment
Just a grain of sand
Passing through an endless hourglass
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 11:25 AM UTC