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The Dead Essence Of Life

Rating: 5.0
I'm still with you baby,
on this earth, the earth with all the concrete supporting the catastrophic infrastructure that is increasingly barren, constantly raped hegemonic erections forcibly without a climax, then begets questions when and where.

I'm still with you baby,
in this country, a country that will always be ready to tackle and slaughter Idealism in silence, then secretly coup the earth and forbid us to spell nostalgia.

I'm still with you baby, in this homeland, the homeland which is a hot commodity, is even dichotomized into palm oil and rubber, some are commodified into soap, then the rest is included in the state canon.

I'm still with you baby
sharing the gloomy tragedy of anomy, with phenomenalism analysis that is confused to read the symptoms, to squeeze, then writhe looking for the sooty estuary answers to every question.

I'm still with you baby
trying to keep healthy Rationalism and the memory of the obituaries of people who are dead, people who are forgotten, people who live but feel dead, or people who were never thought to exist.

Not to be caught in the dystopia of Empiricism, but we are here to prove that braving the current is not finished just by accepting the circus of paranoia created by the rulers.

We are no longer trapped in Fatalism, like believing the narrative of a bigot eschatist about the carnival of the revolution that fell from the seventh heaven transforming into a cage of dogma and absolute religious doctrine.

We no longer believe the intrigue of Despotism, spit in their faces dear, those who say that ballot box theater can periodically solve complex problems without a sense of dialectics.

We are together, me and you, without a line of bureaucratic constitutional ideology ruled by the hormones of possession or obsession, which undoubtedly hit the deepest heart of the true nature of Absurdism.

We are together, will grow old, or give up at the lowest point, or maybe we will stumble to death at the end of Nihilism, as the final consequence of the nonsense hope of a mortal reality.

We are together, me and you, without anyone, without other entities, without other worship which is more appropriate in scale than idols or the dregs of hell.

We are still together, me and you, without him nor them, will dissolve the duality of joy and sorrow, while leaving me and you become us.

Even though in the process, we are often choked by a pyramid of needs or desires, so that our paradigm plunges freely into the dark, blind troughs of Cynicism.

However, we are together, to prove the wings of Existentialism, that the breath of life must be seized again, not just by enjoying nicotine rods, or the illusion of oxygen from the lungs of the third dimension.

The fear of Anarchism may still linger in our heads, but we together, at least we are still able to penetrate the faint night with ecstasy, albeit aided by a few kisses and warm hugs from the old beds.

But my dear,
Materialism has become a plague, no doubt we are also looking for wandering, and unfortunately wherever we go, the world has the same wounds, it is evidenced by a child with sad tears, stunned by the black asphalt roadway.

But my dear,
Capitalism always slaps the face, sometimes subtly so that we are helplessly chained, masks the free market until the chaos of stale arguments about how to secure the position of the workspace, even securing a pile of profits.

But my dear,
struggling in the midst of consumerism is never as easy as condemning urban routines, which are covered with distotic lights and bitch snacks that lead to intercourse.

O my dear,
what is displayed from this world is only the skin, and our task is none other than processing the walking carcasses, into wisdom flesh that we can digest.

O my dear,
I'm also not saturated with the memory, that the most important thing is that we are still burning and still have time to scavenge for meaning in the same sojourn.

But my dear,
they are there, ready to bury the seeds of disobedience and break the utopia with disappointment, while on the other hand, we are manifestations of Sisyphus who was condemned to the point of being swallowed up by the masses.

But my dear,
they were there, guarding the lusts and nurturing the desire for power, while on the other hand, they were representations of Icarus who was ambitious before being crushed by the sun.

They were there, forming a contingent barricade meeting to guard Authoritarianism, with tear gas shot, and unfortunately they still found a big smile through the screen.

They want us to be euthanized, but we are stand still, my dear, unmasking the hypocrite and unmasking those who condemn Criticism, those who while stigmatizing skeptics are illegal, futile and even sinful.

My dear, let my body embrace your sweat, let my mind keep our commitment, and let my soul shelter your soul from the heat of the world.

Even though, I was threatened, killed, terrorized,
poisoned in the air by arsenic or brewed caffeine cyanide.

All these hypotheses of reality are indeed hyperbolic, without any connection with real physiology, but my dear, the hell with dematerialization of diction and demarcation of letters is also metaphor, as long as dehumanization or demoralization does not infiltrate lives.

My dear, one thing you have to do is allow myself to paint the passion of freedom on the canvas of the Tabula Rasa, and allow myself to keep a record of the semiotic constellation of the relative semantics of human civilization.

My dear, this Vita is Brevis but Ars is Longa, our power is fragile but our soul is eternal, so that in the end it will carve out an alternative path from a priori existence that is only temporary, because it is an impulse postulate without argument which is rooted in the essence of facts.

My dear, once again, this is the last time I promise, the super humans are Ubermensch, not those who have a set of futures, nor those who materialize as heavenly plotting brokers.

Therefore,
allow myself to continue living a prolific life, transfiguring calamities as tough as Amorfati Fatum Brutum and living Carpe Diem's ​​phrases to brave the dark epilogue, who knows when, where, and how.
Friday, April 2, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: Love,philosophical,philosophy,nation,contemporary,civil rights
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Translation of 'Intisari Kehidupan yang Mati'
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COMMENTS
Chinedu Dike 03 April 2021
An insightful philosophical reflection nicely brought forth with clarity of thought and mind.
1 0 Reply

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