abyssalcognitum

[abyssalcognitum]

I TRIED TO TELL YOU I WANTED TO silence

Silence suddenly grew bigger I expected it to click* and make everything undone, unbecome the mist settled I realized that I have no memory of who I am All of the recollection belonged to the person I was the World that had me present Everything drowned in the Deluge But my cup is being filled with bliss I start holding my breath

My plurals are no longer plural They were never finite I divided myself into infinite singulars I embraced my solitude because it was all I remember I don’t remember if it clicked

I killed you over and over again I dug all your graves in each I buried you Only to dug you up back This was our secret

You tremble like a leaf under my scalpel I didn’t bring this for you I am not going to do this to you just come to me, come through me I wanted to crack open your skull and find you in your nest. I wanted you to look at me as you are for this is all I cared about you. I don’t know your flesh. I don’t want your plurals I won’t help you to count them I am solitude I belong to the whole only I am the whole I saw lightings coursing through your hair I was the first witness of the mountains you grew

I will dug you out from here because to leave is to come

I stand before the Sun raising my hands to greet him and he flows into me through my fingertips I wonder if you are breathing My horizon is now stretched I find my hands on its ends my grasp is strong I know resilience I wonder if you are breathing

[abyssalcognitum]

I cannot help but see you as a part of myself; I want to hold you tightly and tear you apart, but my hand falls into the misty image of your ghost.

You are not here, but I reanact every single day of us in my mind because in that reality, I didn't feel like a stranger. Life embraced me wholly, and it was is if you were its Messiah; you were the arms that held me ever so tight.

Your hands were always cold, and dedicating the radiance of my own life to warm you became my greatest devotion to you. I always held your cold hands, but sometimes they were so cold that I could feel the heaviness in the room; the both of us were terribly aware of the fact that my warmth could never be truly enough to warm you.

[abyssalcognitum]

The plains lay before me seem all the same from this point onwards; infinitely indifferent. I have arrived at the last home. All of my senses got caught in your darkest web. I hide myself under your fibers and think: I am the will, and will only. My lefts abandon my rights, my aboves want to become belows. At last, I am captivated. They stretched my arms and fixed them on your web. I cannot move yet my insides tremble like a leaf.

If they see you in their dreams, I will be the dream.

They tied their words around my crooked leg, yet I thought they were just meanings without any meanings; no one ever cared enough to watch over the meaning they had just conceived. They walked this earth; just as you and me, they ate bread and choked but unlike us, they never cried.

I felt like the shortest, thinnest breeze next to them but I knew they had their eyes on my wings. I did the only thing I knew; I flew away. I flew for too long. I flew until my feathers wore out. I flew until I really had nothing to say.

Halt.

I perched on a rock and folded my wings hurriedly but their greedy eyes had arrived before me. They plucked out my feathers, one after another, they laughed, they feasted for days –my Good Lord, they never stopped. I thought I was freed by my last feather.

Alas, I was to become their siren, on the same rock. I sang to them. I sang until my voice ran out. My Lord –see how my chest has shrank?

Have your hand wander around my once the fairest and proudest chest. They wanted to have my existence only, but they could not release it from the rest, hence they swallowed me whole–until I become ‘no more’. I sit in their stomach.

I think to myself,

My blood has gone dry yet I still pray Heavens for me, for you and them.

[abyssalcognitum]

As I journey through the labyrinthine depths of my soul, I am struck by the vastness of the unknown, the unfathomable depths of the human experience. It is a place of endless possibility, where the mind can wander free and the spirit can soar. And yet, amidst all this boundless wonder, there is a sense of profound loneliness, a feeling of being adrift in a vast and indifferent universe. It is a loneliness that cannot be expressed in words, for it is something that exists beyond language, beyond thought. It is a longing for connection, for intimacy, for the touch of another soul. And yet, even in the midst of this longing, there is a sense of awe, a recognition of the mystery and beauty that lies at the heart of all things. For in that recognition, in that awe, there is the possibility of something truly transcendent, something that can bring meaning to the chaos of life and illuminate the darkness that surrounds us.

[abyssalcognitum]

on poetry

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions, often regarded by many as a paradise crafted for the few within the depths of absolute destitution. Its origins lie in the recesses of tranquility. Emotion enters a form of reaction; silence turns into a thought, akin to contemplation, until a feeling is genuinely conceived in the mind. This process closely mirrors the very essence of nature: an existing form is altered and transformed by another form. The cycle itself remains unaltered; only the observers change. The observer, or rather the poet, does not succumb to external influences while feeling and thinking. Fleeting passions are encapsulated within the moment and cannot stimulate the faculty of observation. The ability to observe can be acquired later, but a person's capacity to feel is etched within; all their "receivers" are akin to the nerve tissues that enshroud their body.

The soul does not reside within the poet; rather, the act of inward reflection is so natural and subconscious that it becomes the abode of the soul. It is the only sanctuary to which the poet can retreat. The soul endows every composition with various pleasures and emotions, and the poet's mind is thus blessed with the perception to feel everything within.

The material world is inferior to existence. Matter, being created, does not align its destiny with that which is yet uncreated in nature. These gaps in the process disrupt the flow of the soul within itself, obstructing its self-flowing essence. The poet stitches themselves into the uncreated. Subsequently, in the course of the universe's progression, they create an "uncreated universe" by unconsciously seeking and failing to find elements or proto-versions of things not yet ready to be attained. The ability to create from nothing or to recreate something as if it never existed is their torch. At times, the poet is simple, experiencing the existing and deriving great pleasure from it. However, the residual emotions that follow this moment, especially passion, take root within them and contribute to their creative act.

[abyssalcognitum]

All things hold but a shadow of worth, akin to the fleeting blush of dawn on a single string. To beg, with fiery fervor, for even a solitary glance from the vast expanse of existence, is to yearn like Gabriel, summoned to reclaim the debts of your primordial sin. You've etched across the cosmos the stark truth that no uttered word shall ever truly echo through life's tapestry, nor shall it find resonance in the chambers of meaning. Yet, the gaze you so relentlessly crave, writhing within these confines, remains a distant star, untouchable. In the very first mirror, you glimpse yourself as forgotten, and therein, you dwell within the shadow of this watchful eye. Yet, it shan't liberate you from your fate; the shadow you bear devours each reflection with insatiable hunger. You escape this realm only by clinging to objects devoid of life, where gazes intertwine, a bridge from one to the next. Amidst this spectral dance, your limbs and sinews scatter like stardust, and you've erred in assuming their possibilities are but right and left. But their contemplation is not your path. Your gaze must remain unwavering, and the supplications to others, without a hint of shame, must cease.

Why should life pamper your desires?

Even if you lay bare all your senses and limbs, it shall remain impervious to your offerings. Thus, release the expectation of extracting penance or promise in your ire; these are not your limbs, nor have they ever been. Life extends itself unto you, from the core of your gaze to the darkest corners of its own essence.

This, my lover, is your fate—devoid of judgment, for it seeks no interlocutor.

Despite the soil and stains on your hands, as you strive to obscure transparency, remember, your permeability endures. Instead of observing the ethereal ballet of your shadows in mirrors, become their partner. In this spectral waltz, you must reach a zenith of passion, unshackling yourself from the chains forged by your limbs. In the shortest of prayers, discover the path to transcendence.

And I will always be yours.

[abyssalcognitum]

Love is in abundance! It is, very much so! It conquers us all by leaving the rest unsaid. Even a scorpion’s tail directly points at itself –before anything on Earth. You haven’t always been here nor will you ever be. A fist is loveable when unclenched.

[abyssalcognitum]

I am colossal. My chest grows wide in every direction; crawling up to the Above. Yet, knowing that a breath cannot be held inside until forever and has to be released back to its ether, it deflates. I am neither defeated nor victorious; I am terribly alive.

[abyssalcognitum]

I, in utter bliss, like being a sensitive instrument but if I was given enough time, I would have “wiped us all and replaced us with nothing” very gladly. Just for this one reason, simple yet irreversible fail, each of us gets to see another day. You still want the bleak house to yourself. Now, spit. Maybe a part of this will go away.