Scribbles

Nights when I feel so lonely, Days when I feel so done, Softly do I trace the shadows, To the hideout beneath the sun.

Some may call it an illusion, Some may surely think I’m mad, But I’m deaf to their derision, For they know not of the time I had.

And for once I’m now glad, I’ve only heard this in a fable, That your song makes me forget, But to hear I am unable.

You hold your hand across the table, As you lean your eyes forward direct, Then I meet your gaze with longing, But I do see nothing ahead.

I’m sure its more than an illusion, Surely I’m not in a trance, And yet its my firm decision, To stare at the ceiling as you dance.

Though I hear someone humming the melody, I remain deaf to your heart’s voice So all that’s left is an empty rhythm, All that’s left to me is noise.

Reflection

I wrote this poem over a year ago. I imbued within it a mixture of sorrow and nihilism. The inspiration for it was the pain behind the seemingly futile nature of days when one does not have something to hope for. In retrospect, the “nights when I feel so lonely” and “days when I feel so done” was likely referenced to the time when I was in a mundane and repetitive job. I remember being so bored that I “trace the shadows”, that is I watch the unique curves they create. I also imagine running away to a hideout, where I can receive the warmth of the sun, yet hide “beneath” its indication that it is another day, and the futility of work and futility in general goes on.

I reflect that people call this futility an “illusion” that I’m trying to propagate, perhaps I’m even mad. Being “deaf” to their derision here was intended by me as a good thing, for I did not want to listen to their accusations. I also try to forgive them telling myself that they “know not” of my experience.

I inserted a quick high moment in this poem, where “I’m now glad”. The news that I hear is something alike what comes in a “fable”. And in that fable, a song is heard that “makes me forget”. The strange thing is, I “heard” the song but “I am unable” to “listen” to it. My expression in the fourth stanza is me continuing to express this bewilderment. The source of the song is “hold[ing] his hand” to me and leaning “forward”. I meet the “gaze with longing” even yet I “see nothing” ahead. Its this strange phenomenon where I know somethings in front of me, and that something is beautiful, and that something fills a gap in the innermost me.

I am confident it is “more than an illusion” or “trance”. And notice that I have the capacity here to make a “firm decision”. What I do is “to stare at the ceiling as you dance”. If I ever did that in a performance, I would burn the ticket money. I knew a beautiful performance was in front of me, but I choose to look at the higher “ceiling”, the empty “ceiling”.

In the final stanza there is a dichotomy of self-awareness and ignorance. I admit “I hear someone humming the melody” which sounds like I am confident that there is someone there producing that beautiful tune but am ignorant as to who that is. Then I become self aware and say I “remain deaf” , just like I was deaf to other people’s comments, I made myself deaf to this mysterious song player. I do this even though I know the consequence: “all that’s left is an empty rhythm”. This sorrowful sound of silence comes from the perspective of the self-aware, knowing he has missed on the call of this beautiful melody. But from the perspective of the ignorant, the sound was far from pleasant, it was just noise.

Although we know that life is not futile we struggle to justify why this is the case. Perhaps I’m not the only one having heard but struggling to listen, even though the source of the song is much closer than we think. How do we fight the mindset of futility? What is the song you are looking for?