New Poem – Existentialism

Posted: 29th Jun 2018 in Uncategorised

I’ve been delving in to a bit of philosophy lately; mainly through the existentialist works of Dostoevsky. After reading his novel and novella: Crime & Punishment and Notes from the Underground, its interesting how Dostoevsky was able to reflect – with such detail and veracity-  a sense of paranoia, hyper consciousness and an erratic level of self-esteem that was existent amongst some Russians in the 19th century. His theme of the human psyche being a natural flaw of creation is something that resonates very closely with our current crisis regarding mental health and how to treat it. Plus, the way in which he uses the adolescence of his characters to portray psychological development in turmoil reminds me of the current debate about teenagers and social media addiction.

I am no expert of Dostoevsky and his works, but the poem I wrote tries to reflect the contemporary problems that humans have with their social identity and how our notion of goodness is in conflict with our notion of freedom.

 

Can you hear the Jury grumbling as they take their seats?

The Judge cracks open the session with his bulletined order of events.

Like a tombstone of structured emotion, the prosecution states their case with a cackle of arrogance and bitter assumption.

“We are defending “the liberty of love” beckons the defence, but the patronising scoffs of despair and horror are normalised in this world of systematic tabling.

 

But I….feel nice here.

In my pot of soil.

On my patch of mud.

Withdrawn from production line patriotism,

And isolated from the sounds of their rules,

their reasons,

their judgements.

 

This pot gives me plenty of space to run,

I can feel its walls, but I can see freedom in the darkness.

And the silence echoes with a special…

“Thump, Thump”. Order! Order!

This striking sound of ‘justice’ deafens my minds(s).

One fails to recuperate such tranquil thoughts with the murmurs of an enlightened mob above them.

 

I do not infringe upon others movements,

The thought of asserting my morality gives me no amusement.

I have not relinquished my citizenship for a hovel of an existence.

But simply rekindled my sovereignty so that I could have independence.

 

I can hear the defendant interrogated and accused of a love based on guilt.

As if the prosecutor understands.. ,

Oh what castle of lies they have all built!

 

You see, in these worlds, grands delusions reign supreme.

Call whatever Witness to the stand.

They will testify to their own hypocrisy.

Offering perceptions born out of the fog and mist.

 

But in my dwelling, I provide no blurred convictions.

The love I hold, is not hollow but honest.

I am not swayed by unrelenting passions.

No bleakness can consume me,

because I have freed myself from my own harsh reality.

 

However, it seems that sentences must be carried out.

Children must be punished.

And yes, we must learn from our mistakes.

People need to have regrets,

and so we must control our own heartbreaks.

 

Though I live for the eternal, I can not forsake my liberty.

For my truth is powerful because it can shift.

It sustains my wriggle room in a life that constricts.

So when the jury makes their call, I will cackle in my chair.

For the courts can’t influence me, and their verdict is insincere.

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