Most of our lives are lived in paralysis
Metropolis to Metropolis:
It is never adequate.
This fixation on a catalysis—
A changing, ultimate catharsis—
Proves our nature as languid.
We fail to effectively relinquish
That vividly desolate image
Which lures us on pilgrimage.
On this search, we do not live.
Our research cannot fix
My life was intensified by an element—
That named woman.
I sought to understand the strands of hair
Belonging to bodies so fair.
Yet, now I remain adamant
About the measures of the Vatican
To patronize their secret lairs.
Their bodies are extravagant,
But, like Larkin, not fit
To satisfy my affairs.
Everyone has one, and then, upon
Disappointment, another search has begun.
The road continues down the slope, and then some,
But it never is done.
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Comments about this poem (Cathartic Paralysis by Edwin Cordero )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Mind, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- WE ARE TEMPORARILY HERE, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Waxing Grandiloquent, Margaret Alice Second
- When The Evening Light Comes, Pijush Biswas
- Hindi haiku (56-60), S.D. TIWARI
- Retirement (or) Till Your Last, Natarajan Ramaseshan
- An illicit dream....., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- The House Across Our Road, Kuda Bondamakara
- sadism, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Call me, I am here, gajanan mishra