A poem by Sahil Bhambri
Exert life than a void pray,
Gone my obey for: a lied rose,
Under the deep deep sky, may the sea beneath,
Felt all the existence of died prose.
Identity of expiring beyond, an illusion of soon,
Or the city lights, may the lights of so moon.
And eyes oh eyes of my, heed existence,
Who humane instincts to materialise; to disobey chosen persistence.
I stood the defeat ; as vanished as die,
All hopes, legacy, ideas meaningless; heard i,
I stood by god, to hail nothingness and death,
Thence i tasted sour on the soliloquy of celebrated Macbeth.
For when he says; god is dead,
Its innocence absurd that we are his murderer,
A cynic, anti-foundationalism, epistemic to crave for more and more, oh i read,
For all my beliefs came to bright blur.
Today, when i ask a theory of tree makes sound or not when fallen alone,
Exculpate not, for i myself flown in the most questionable known.
Today, when i ask a theory of Syssipus as a metaphor on existentialism,
Exculpate not, for i know more than seven colours of old prism.
Learner, me oh me, how i may counter not,
Nihilist not i, neither theory i ever caught.
I choose to choose, to see i see,
So; next when we revel, keep it over a beautiful night of spree.