Answers
When the question stares in your face,
What happens to you after you?
What's it to be like...
going to sleep and never wake up?
What's it to be like...
All you know of you, as you,
Dissolves in a glance, and you know not
If there's a you that will ever know that?
A jolt of fear runs down your spine.
You're faced with a challenge,
That you, as the knowledge of you
Has no reference to, to answer.
The paradox of you, smirks at you,
And tears down your pride of knowledge.
You're at war with yourself.
A war in which you aren't the warrior.
You scheme and theorize and sketch,
The figures of an Afterlife, and hang it,
For display in the marketplace,
And offer it as the answer, for a price.
Yet, you go a step further.
You build a structure around it,
With cause and effect, as bricks and mortar,
And you call this edifice, your belief.
You decorate it with fairy tales,
of heaven and hell and salvation.
You're convinced that you have known,
What lies across the horizon.
Your attempts to suspend your fear,
Have not sated your demons.
You go on with your compulsion,
To conquer the element of mystery.
You, as the science of you,
Dissect and analyze and search,
What you know of, as you,
To unravel and eliminate the unknowability.
You dig and delve your mass of flesh,
Until you devolve into a grotesque corpse.
You gather data and assert yourself,
That you, as knowledge is immortal.
Have you really found the answers?...
Are they really your answers or your phantoms?
All that you know of, as you,
Is that even really you?
The question is still staring in your face.
What happens to you after you?
When your phantoms fly away with the wind,
Your question dies a silent death.
10-02-22
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Author:
Advaitha (
Offline) - Published: October 2nd, 2022 15:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
Offline)
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