I’m a traveler who goes to nowhere
A voyager in mind and soul
But my feet firmly affixed to somewhere
Simply gyrating with the planets
Whirl and whirl I go
The world’s not mine to know
A walk along the path is my adventure
A philosopher’s walk to everywhere and nowhere
A foolhardy businessman’s venture
Here, there, everywhere but ultimately nowhere
My broken mind’s taken me to somewhere
Not sure I wish I was here
I’m a traveler who goes to nowhere
I’m free but not really free
Not sure if it was jadu or voodoo
Or something altogether darker
But I'm broken and blue anew
Having been everywhere and nowhere
************************************
The piece above is an existential reflection on the feeling that so many of us get about our lives. We live the myth of Sisyphus, pushing boulders up hills only to see the spills of them rolling back down said hills for us to roll up all over again. We lead lives of tedious repetition that we smile through as if by automation, believing this to be such an ideal experience. In the end, we go nowhere, even if it feels we’ve covered miles and miles.
Assuredly, we’re worked into bone deep weariness, and yet after hours and hours of going a thousand an hour without respite, there we lie on the same sofa, lying to whoever’s beside you muttering a listless “I’m fine”. A scroll through the gram and a few unhappy news bulletins later and things feel still darker. Eventually, bed time comes but sleep is a teaser, avoiding you like a Mayweather shoulder roll. How many of us can seriously say we’ve gotten a good night’s sleep of late without worrying about what the next day would bring? How many of us didn’t shudder a little at the thought of tomorrow’s to-do list?
At around 8am, the fingers begin to twinge, the hands tremble a little. The breathing becomes heavy because we know that a hard day lies ahead. As we type in our passwords to access our emails, our hearts beat a little faster and do we not feel our lips quiver? What sudden assignment will we have waiting there? And what emergency will we find in our Teams messages? And should I even begin to discuss the mild terror at the realization that something was done wrong, that we missed something? What if I have to deliver bad news today to someone high up? And then what of the mortgage, the cellphone bill, the career we worked so hard to build? At 5 or so, maybe a chance to exhale assuming successful navigation of twelve hours worth of work in the allotted eight. A latent paranoia fuels whatever successes are to be had. No rest for the wicked, falter for a minute and watch the Jenga tower come crashing down.
What develops is a jaundiced outlook on life, a sense of colorlessness. It's as if someone has hexed you. It's as if a very evil feeling was beginning to well up within you. There’s a sense of nothingness, a sense of going nowhere. Promotions are meh. Pay hikes are nice but inflation. Praise is just praise, nice words but it no longer does anything special inside. What is there inside anyway? Is there anything left?
As I write from the mad world we live in, thinking of the worn-out faces on the subway, the blank, expressionless souls drowning their nothingness in drink and idle chatter, I see the traveler to nowhere of which I wrote, running circles just like in the song I’ve been referencing this whole paragraph. And where do we get? Yes, nowhere. We spend our days dreaming of adventure that will never come, lusting for a life not ours to live. Or else, why would we live vicariously through famous people and social media influencers. We want something more, to not feel stationary, to move freely through time and space. And yet, we’re chained. Some wear orange jumpsuits. Others wear suits and ties. Some wear chains of rusted iron, others chains of gold, but chains they remain. Don’t you dream that the successful executive is truly free. The poem above speaks to them and of them just like it speaks to us the underlings.
These paragraphs are not really an analysis of my poem, but rather an insight into my motivation for writing it. There is nothing to analyze. There are no elaborate devices, at least not like some of my more complex pieces. There are no clever references to historical events or characters. It’s a protest song of sorts, an attempt to speak with and for those who feel like they’re doing so much and not getting anywhere. It boils itself down to the question “what’s it all for?”. What is it all for anyway? Say, is that not my boulder rolling down the hill again?
Komentáře