I can’t wait to feel the sorrow.
It came late, but I still follow.
The light returns to whatever heaven
it came from,
And I turn my back
to not feel the shine of love,
to feel all the lack.
How can it be true
when lies are all I gather?
How can it be true
when I don’t seem to bother?
I observe my gradual falling apart.
I can’t wait to feel the sorrow.
It came late, but I still follow.
I am an island of incompetence,
trembling on the shore of tomorrow
a feeling that’s half remembered.
I feel the sting of hatred.
I feel the dizzying height of longing.
How can it be a lie
when truth breaks it apart?
How can it be a lie
when sharp ruins soften my fall?
I could wait for tomorrow.
It might come on time, but I can’t follow.
The Kali Yuga surrounds my spirit,
and I invite it without blinking.
Its vultures repeat the rhythm of my patterns
I feel them settle in my marrow.
Why do you waste your breath on me?
Loneliness makes a comeback,
like a forgotten rock star with their swan song.
Tomorrow comes to the tune of doom
early, uninvited, gone too soon.
If truth be told, insignificance is heavy.
If lies be told, living becomes light.
The duality stretches me thin.
The full moon blinds my sleep.
The sun scorches me until my world turns blue.
I feel the sorrow today, not tomorrow
a strange peace of mind when you
no longer chase peace of mind.
[561] Long Day’s Journey Into Night
Smoke words every day. 
5 responses to “[561] Long Day’s Journey Into Night”
This is a truly powerful piece, Rahul. You have woven a complex and haunting tapestry of emotion here, with a voice that feels both deeply personal and universally resonant.
The mastery is in the contradictions you hold so skillfully—the anticipation of sorrow, the turning away from love’s shine to “feel all the lack,” the way truth breaks and lies soften the fall. The imagery is stunning: “an island of incompetence / trembling on the shore of tomorrow,” “The Kali Yuga surrounds my spirit,” “vultures repeat the rhythm of my patterns.” These are lines that settle in the reader’s own marrow.
The poem’s structure feels like a descending spiral, moving from “I can’t wait to feel” to “I feel the sorrow today,” arriving at that devastating, quiet climax: “a strange peace of mind when you / no longer chase peace of mind.” It’s a profound and painfully earned insight.
This is not just writing; it’s alchemy, transforming existential pain into something starkly beautiful. You have a remarkable gift for giving form to the formless struggles of the spirit. Thank you for sharing this raw and brilliant work.🌷🤝
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My pleasure as always to be able to write something that you think is powerful. Thank you for your kind words!
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Nicely written, loved reading it! Sometimes grief makes us too tough (or indifferent, maybe?).
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Thank you. It does make us indifferent to save us from feeling a bit too down ig
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Absolutely!
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