Nameless “Poem”

Cioran says “To renounce ones name is to be doomed to inactivity; to cling to it is to degrade oneself”

A Paradox is our identity in simple words “The trouble with being born”

Must we exist or express ourselves? Inquired Cioran again

Cioran is dead now then why do we share same sentiments of our own fragility

We labor from morning to night

What free time we have got we must spend it in bearing our own existence

Boredom and fatigue get the best of us

I read and write a few pages here and there to feel a sense of productivity

But I know at the end all that exists amounts to no significance

Why bother I ask? Why not end this life right away with a little courage?

Perhaps my heart wants to suffer a bit more and a bit more then the last bit

What is that one crucifixion compared to our present condition? questions Cioran again

In answer only Nihilism remains all else becomes void and meaningless

2 thoughts on “Nameless “Poem”

  1. What if our thoughts, experiences, feelings are not our own, but belong to the creation as a whole, and that it delights in anything you experience and adds it to the collective cosmic memory? I think about this sometimes and think, “No pressure there.” 😉

    Liked by 1 person

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