Existential crisis

A big thank you to Heena for nominating me for the Blogger Recognition Award. Go check her blog out. I nominate Benefits with brain because of her lovely work. Click here for the rules : rules. Also, comment below if you’ve ever gone through an existential crisis. Enjoy!


Existential crisis.
One winter night,
Inside the folded pages of darkness and the moon,
On a terrace made of stone and expectations,
I lay under the stars,
As they looked down on me.
I gazed and felt
The cold wind’s hand on my speedbag face,
The curves of darkness and its nakedness,
The bare existence of my soul
that lay hidden inside the crumpled bed-sheets of this beautiful night.
I wondered and worried,
About things bigger than my eye-lashes and 11:11 wishes,
About things more important than betrayal and revenge,
About my mere existence.
Am I Chekhov’s gun?
(If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall,
then in the following one it should be fired.
If I exist,
I matter.)
Or am I a gun people keep hidden in drawers,
To mark their authority and ensure their security?
Are guns needed at all?
Am I even a gun?
What am I?
I looked for answers
Inside the folded pages of darkness and the moon.


Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post : Butterflies and crushes.
Related post : Languages, medicines and magicians.

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44 Comments

  1. This is more complex than it appears on first reading. It addresses on one level the quest for self awareness and describes the drive experienced. On another questions the fundamental of the existence of good and evil. It recognises Humankinds capacity to do harm by comparison of self as a weapon. This piece muted deep stirring of the spirit. That’su view. Regards. Chris T.

  2. Oh yeah, I’ve had many of these. Even if we do exist, so many of us are practically dead inside. So even if we do exist as physical entities, souls are rare… You write beautifully, and yours is one such soul:)

  3. A most interesting poem. Yes I have had an existential crisis, when I got to the point of giving up drugs. I survived it, thanks to a power greater than myself. In Chinese, the ideogram for crisis also means opportunity… thanks for liking my blog and please keep reading. Peace.

  4. Ah, there’s both beauty & loathing when it comes down to existential crises. It’s amazing how you can put into words these complex emotions so vividly.

  5. My very first existential crisis — although I did not understand it as such at the time — occurred when I was very young, when my parents read me my nightly bed-time story, and I had a sudden dread, “what if I am the story…they close the book, and I cease until someone reopens these pages again?” Worries too large for a child. They persist to this day, in the sense that I belong…elsewhere…

    Thank you for this thought-provoking poem. And thank you for your recent visit to my blog, which lead me to yours! :)

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