Roaming endlessly, painfully
A bleeding heart without solace
Nowhere to stay, nowhere to rest
No space for the morning rays
No home, no friend
What worth, what is left
Nothing gained, all lost
Of all peace I am bereft
Loss is lost, gain is lost
Nihil, Naught, Nothing, None
No one can console
The heart of this lonely one
Forgotten dreams of avalon
Of cool breeze and light
Galloping white horses
With flowing manes bright
The horses run free
The birds flew away
Leaving me behind
Awaiting my own day
Hope, Light, Pain is lost
Searching for my true name
Which I lost in delusion -
My infinitely petty game
I search through clouds hopelessly
Desolate, Lost, Wretched, Forlorn
Tell me my true name, I implore
The one I had before I was born.
Epilogue: Following are the metaphors I intended: Night, Darkness, Clouds are symbolic of confusion and cluelessness. Morning rays, White Horses, Birds are symbolic of clarity and freedom. The delusion I refer to is the game of continual desires that we inappropriately refer to as life. Inspired by “Nemo” by Nightwish, whose lyrics contain the title of this poem. The poem is about who I am.
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But…what’s in a name?
Comment by phoenix August 17, 2006 @ 6:52 am@Phoenix: That is the exact point of the poem. What was your name before you were born? It is not a question to be answered by logic, but rather something to get the reader pondering in certain direction. There is absolutely nothing in our names, its a label we arbitrarily stick onto ourselves and think that it is what we are. We name things and think we’ve seen their reality, equating them with a mental construct which is labelled by their names. You see your multifarous responses to things and think all these things are you/your name, all encompassed in a convenient logical construct: Your ego. By asking for my true name, I am basically asking where was my ego before I was born? Again you may give a nice logical answer to this question, but thats not the point. If you take this question below just the intelletual level and really try to grapple with it, it changes the way you look at many things. I hope I havent’t confused you.
In simple words, this poem is equivalent to the oft-quoted question: “Who am I?”
Comment by lostrealist August 17, 2006 @ 7:12 am