Category Archives: Emily Dickinson

Nihilistic Tendencies

Nihilistic Tendencies

A cold embrace hovers over me
Disseminating all the light that once was
It is as if it had never been there
Day by day, the darkness grows as it is nurtured by confusion and doubt
Night after night, melancholy is no longer a feeling, but a state –
One that has been welcomed with warmth
God is not the question. God is the problem.
Why lie about his existence when I know he’s real?
Others may feel comfort in ignorance. Not I.
Comfort – in a predestined existence that is full of endless beauty,
Yet plagued by the stark reality of eternal damnation,
The product of our very own fabrication and design.
I seek no comfort because there isn’t any comfort. Not in this world.
The very purpose of our existence is empty and plain;
Though I believe the evil behind it all was giving man thought.
How is one bestowed with such incredulous talents
With the notion that none of them may be used,
And if allowed, must be appropriated accordingly?
We would have been better off being like the angels in heaven above,
Or ignorantly roaming like animals.
Instead, we were forsaken with knowledge.
A curse disguised as a blessing for the wise.
I comprise everything that I am worth and have been given.
My life, my soul, my world, my salvation, and all that comes with these pleasantly unpleasant things.
I risk an eternal life in the burning flames of hell
So that God may answer me this:
Why? Why have you forsaken me?
I, a servant once so humble to his master, have fallen from grace and the wings of his mercy.
But as I fall deep into the unwavering depths of everlasting despair
I seek to have my question answered by the One who had created me.
Never had I asked to have been created, and had I been told of the realities
Never would I have agreed to any of this,
With all the temptations and wonders at our disposal
It’s too easy to lose it and spend the rest of your days in an ever antagonizing squalor
Full of anguish and self-hate, hate that had been with you since your birth.
We do not live in a mad world.
We live in a sad world. It’ll never stop being sad.
A life entwined in a web of unresolved problems will never be saved.
There is no hope for anyone nor anything.
The only happiness we’ll ever have is this moment.
This is the only moment, the only opportunity, the only goddamn and blasphemously unholy holy chance we have to shine bright
Like the sun, a star that is equally fragile in it’s damnéd existence.
Reign in the fire before the fire reigns in you. Cease the day.
Too many before us, before me, have asked the same old questions.
Misfortune is man’s inevitable fate,
but we are given a short shot at real living before reality kicks in.
Life’s a bitch, and then you die; fin.

Written by Mensur Gjonbalaj
February 27, 2013

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Poem of the Day: A Bird Came Down

emily dickinson

 

The following is beautiful poem by the famous American poet, Emily Dickinson.

 

A Bird Came Down

A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,–
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim.

By Emily Dickinson

Poetic Love

Love-in-Art-lovers-6294614-800-600

Bienvenido,

I haven’t posted much material recently. This is due in part because I had been rather busy with other affairs. However, I came across an old poem I wrote a couple of years ago. It is a rather lengthy poem, inspired by the works of Gothic poets, such as Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickinson, Lord Tennyson, and Oscar Wilde. I hope my viewership enjoys this poem. It will be my 60th post.

 

Poetic Love

Once was a beauty whom I adored.

She was sweet and kind, making my feelings soar.

Her hair was the color of coffee,

And her skin had a hazed complexion.

None of other girls compared to her,

For what they lacked in character,

She made up in looks.

Never had I come across a more ideal maid,

Nor do I believe I ever shall.

I spent my youth in her obsession.

Hoping that I would some day end up with her.

In peace and tranquility.

Oh! What a life that would have been to be enjoined by such an angel.

Such is life,

By such is life.

By such, it never means to give you what you hope for.

Instead, you reap what you sow.

But God also decides the outcome.

I spent many a days dreaming of that wondrous beauty.

Now, she belongs to another.

All the years of fantasy –

All the nights of prayer and hope have led me to this.

One may pray and ask,

But one most surely will not end up with that in which he had asked.

Why?

God’s plans are greater than we could fathom.

It is only He knows what is best for the world

And what will become of us.

Nevertheless, the fragility of man corrupts the understanding of faith.

Since we aren’t capable of seeing the future

We will never comprehend why things are as such.

Thought I, that the girl would end up in my arms;

So I did, but to no avail.

Now I lay here disappointed and displeased.

When I should’ve trusted in God and his plans.

Such is the state of man.

Man is weak and forgetful.

He thinks he knows a thing or two about life, but he knows nothing.

As I observe my dismay I realize how foolish I truly am.

My feeble mind imprisons my heart.

I never truly loved that girl,

Nor ha I been a victim of lust.

It was false hope.

False hope is when one believes he can attain which is unattainable.

It is if that of a sinner who rejects God yet aspires for paradise.

Hopeless.

One must never remain hopeless.

I find it more wise to complement hope with prudence.

Prudence is the father of success;

Success is the mother of love.

How does once reach wisdom?

Had I known I wouldn’t be composing these verses,

I would be long gone from these pages

And closer to love.

Life is but a journey.

A journey never has smooth paths; though sometimes,

It is full of bumps and holes.

The best journeyman is the one who learns its flaws

And masters it to the point that he becomes in control of the road.

Such is the purpose of life,

To overcome the hardships with patience.

 

Written by Mensur Gjonbalaj

July 2011

Melancholy

I’ll never forget writing this poem. It was about 3:30 in the morning and I was sleeping over a friend’s house. I remember not being able to sleep due to the noises I heard from the other room. My friend was reaming his wife. The sex must have been either incredible or violent, because both of them were crying after they finished. I laughed in the beginning, then blasted the music on my iPod, and when that failed started writing poetry to put myself to sleep. If I’m not mistaken this was sometime in the late Spring of 2010, which wasn’t the most best time of life, though it should have been.

A couple of months earlier I ended a relationship with a girl who was in love because I wasn’t really that fond of her, both sexually and emotionally. I got depressed afterwards. First I sought to console my loneliness through religion and prayer, but after that failed to help ease the pains of being a somewhat bi-polar and sex-crazed individual I turned to writing. I have been writing in personal journals on and off since high school. I would also experiment with writing poetry every here and there, but wasn’t that fond of it. Poetry seemed cheesy and an escapist’s way of being open and honest. However, it wasn’t until 2009 that I began to write actual poetry.

Most of the early poems were written on my computer and unfortunately lost due to accidents like accidental deletions or computer damage. 2010 was the year I decided to document all the poems I wrote on paper and, if written on my iPhone or computer, emailed to my private account. Melancholy was one of the first of these poems to be written and saved for future consideration. At the time I did not expect to pursue a career in writing whatsoever, but it didn’t stop me from dong what I love.

Anyway, Melancholy is a short poem that talks about my negative outlook on life as a result of being a loner and single. The fact that my friend and his wife were going at it like monkeys next door most certainly helped me express my emotions. So, yes, this poem was being written while my friends were having sex, and I was literally 10 to 15 feet away from them. Not sure if that’s a significant fact, but I just felt like mentioning it. Sometimes knowing the context of things helps one to understand where the person is coming from.

By the way, I forgot to mention something. I was trying my best to capture that Gothic/depressive yet romantic style of Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson. In my opinion I failed, but I’ll leave that for you to decide.

Enjoy.

Sparanoid

Melancholy

As I look into the abyss of life
I see nothing but internal strife
A life without a wife

Full of misery and despair
Without any care
But who am I to dare

To go beyond the bounds given
And enter a life full of sinning
Where there is no winning

As I fall from grace
And into disgrace
I stare at the abyss in front of my face

Laughing at me as if I were blind
As my feeble mind
Tries to cope with the lies that I try to find

There is no hope, only pain
In a world full of nothing to gain
As I lay here on my bed feeling mundane

I do not feel jolly
But more like an empty trolley
This is life without love, this is melancholy

Mensur Gjonbalaj

June 2010