Absurd Living

You remained garrisoned all your life, suddenly death knocks on the door,

No matter how much you fuse with beloved, you'll die alone for sure.

You poured your passion, the work doesn't fill, whom do you now blame?

There's no meaning to grab, you have to stitch it yourself, isn't that so lame?

 

The heart pines for some structure, a pattern behind which to hide,

That life is random and chaotic, can you take it in your stride?

Life doesn't owe you anything, it need not your wishes fulfill,

It doesn't care whether you limp in despair, or in glory yourself kill.

 

The world is indifferent is a lie we're told, the stranger smiles and cares.

The heart may not get clarity upfront, but it can create one if it dares.

The world, made of others, can care a bit, we can perhaps meet midway,

Instead of searching for meaning outside, we can mindfully forge our way. 

 

Confronting the absurd can be traumatic, it can also heal and transform.

You have to look in the abyss only once, and can stay calm in the later storm.

Time to Don Another Mask?

Living against the backdrop, of my own autobiography,

I tried to fit the labels - that I did science and philosophy.

A persona carefully crafted, the mask melted into the face,

The true self, if there was any, disappeared in the haze. 

 

Disfigured and dismembered, it grew ugly and bland,

No matter the clothes I donned, to look majestic and grand.

Sometimes a poet, a programmer, someone passionate about psych,

I had to justify my existence and catch your eyes, make sure you notice and like. 

 

When I started I was OK, to be exposed and without a mask,

To be a good human being, was my only wish and life task.

Over time reality dawned, that there were missing beacons in the night,

That the mask comes along with the cape, is something I no longer fight.

 

In trying to mold to your demands and needs, I've lost myself bit by bit,

I can still try to be a good human being, but that persona my face may no longer fit.

The Great Gambler

We are all enamored by the IPO's, and the million dollar exit,

At some level we understand its luck, and not all a result of grit.

But the 9 out of 10 that fold up, and in shame and disgrace go bankrupt,

They don't come to mind that easily, when you decide to launch a start-up.  

 

Everyone around you is a founder, building left and right,

How can you be left behind, and in a job keep sitting tight?

The stakes are high, and rest assured, you won't get a regular pay,

But whenever you'll get a client or funding, you'll be on seventh sky for the day.

 

You've invested a lot already, money, time, yourself,

To think of quitting after all this, is a betrayal in itself.

What are you if not a founder, you take risks, you gamble it all,

Even if your venture is just limping along, you start again, after the fall. 

 

I can name all the biases and heuristics, that compel me to again and again start,

That may be the way the gambler's mind works, but I'll master the winning jackpot art.

Taming the Shrew

Wild like the forest, I tempt you with my nerve,

The river within overflows, with joie de vivre.

My heedlessness unsettles you, mocks you no end,

You *have* to domesticate me, to your will bend.

 

Nourishing like the field, I satisfy your whim,

Like a canal I'm straightened, and become bound to him.

The one who plows and injures, reaps the reward,

Until I become barren, and he can no longer afford.

 

Desolate like the fallow land, I'm all but ignored,

The stream has dried up, maybe he has become bored.

I'll bear fruit again, just give me some time and space,

Let my wilderness seep out, I'll become fertile by God's grace.

 

No one has asked me, what *I* want to be,

Label me all you want, I just want to be free. 

Fighting a Crisis

A crisis is brewing, I'll rise to the occasion,

I'm getting dehydrated, sapped of my passion.

Will I magically overcome, when the crisis becomes real,

Have I trained enough for this day? Were my priorities clear?

They say to live in the present, is what we human beings are meant,

The past and future will remain, but the moment will soon be spent.

I have instead found it wise, to prepare diligently for the future,

So when the crisis is finally upon you, you don't end up being a loser.

If you want to emerge stronger, better prepare well in advance,

Or you might not even survive, so don't goof up and take a chance.  

It's in peacetime that you can prepare, not when surrounded in wartime,

To enjoy the present, and not sweat, is to bleed when fighting, and a crime.

I have a long time seen it coming, and now this crisis I've finally hit,

My training has prepared me, not to flail, but in the moment sit.

The Three Metamorphoses

I carry the weight, of tradition on my back,

I must obey the rules, the freedom to explore I lack.

I'm a camel providing stability, like the solid tree,

I defer without questioning, to the powers that be.

In time, I rebel, question every 'thou shalt ',

In the flame of my defiance, I myself melt.

I'm a lion roaring, I will turn to ashes if need be,

I bring down the structures, but struggle to be truly free.

I play with the ashes, mix the soil nearby,

Create new forms and rules, to the past say bye.

I'm a child beginning anew, there's innocence in my stride,

Like a phoenix, I keep rising, from freedom I don't hide.

I've grown through the stages, I know what being free is like,

I both accept and create my fate, can be the wise old man or childlike.

Invoking the Muse

Go ahead, read that book, connect the dots,

Unleash the inner vulture, feast on the thoughts.

There's nothing original, just regurgitated rot,

To repackage old wisdom, is the human lot.

You can summon the muse, at your will and behest,

You take great pride in your craft, you are the absolute best.

A creator par excellence, you lean on others' shoulders,

A David sculpting himself, you chip off on their boulders.

One day, what happens, when their ideas don't appeal,

Do you suddenly realize, you are human and can feel?

You don't need to synthesize, just pour what's in your heart,

The poem may turn out empty, but you'd rediscover your art.

Enough of hiding behind sonnets, written as a reaction to others' views,

Let emotions ooze down as ink, filling the page, and your life, with blues.