Posted on 14/02/2011


This poem’s about a man, so involved in showing to the world what he is all about, he loses himself at some point. With neither a lived life, nor the societal acceptance he had craved for all his life, he loses all hope…

Dozing off in his armchair
He wallowed in voices
Awakened by the white noise,
Perforating through the prism
With cacophony on its other side.
His afternoon was spent
Looking for his fountain pen
To write of a quest
For his imaginary needle that lay
Somewhere in the haystack.
The needle defined him
As he knew to be the truth
For long, he struggled to portray it
To that world, that misunderstood,
Blurring his looking- glass self.
The search lasted till yesterday
Suddenly, he lost.
The belief in its existence
The quest, he abandoned,
Then swallowed those deadly pills
And  fell back on his armchair.