Senseless

My friend calls it ‘tabula rasa’.

My mother says it’s when

young bull silently bleats

at a colorful display.

 

For me, it’s when every reason

bleeds with frustration –

senseless and unmoving,

your lonely parts

seek validation.

Purpose is given or found?

 

You say I’m a slave to a detail,

yet your ‘big picture’ falls apart

each time you look at it.

 

You say I roam in confusion

yet you don’t know which

holographic dress you will wear tonight.

 

And I tell you, you would squeeze

your own guts in one hand,

pierce your eye with swordfish

and walk barefoot in the mouth

of a raging volcano:

just to feel one more time,

just to cry one more time.

 

Maja S. Todorovic

14 Comments

Leave a Comment

  1. I read, this fine poem functions two levels, the coldness of another and also your inability to feel about something as strongly as you should. These concerns can be held by others of different cultures and different erasβ€”in short, universal.

    Liked by 1 person

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