Base Camp is where visitors go to relax, unwind, and get familiar with an anthology of earlier material.

The Inescapable Conclusion

A little poetry every now and then recalibrates the soul.

There, far within the wear and tear,
deep inside the labyrinth lair,
the acid humor churns the mood
and permeates their livelihood,
and suddenly they miss their temple,
their warm abode, once exemplar,
now forlorn, as they realize what pipes
their dreams have ended up in.

Determined, they decide to rise to the challenge
and make it through the mélange,
into a maze of cul-de-sacs,
venturing farther down the hatch.
They are searching for the light
that will rectify their plight, seeking out
a way to wipe their errors clean
and emerge unscathed and evergreen.
Losing strength, they are livid and deluded grossly,
disillusioned by confusion that has turned their self-infusion
to a mal-advised intrusion that reciprocally hampers
and dysfunctionally tampers with their symbiosis process,
vis-a-vis a never-ending, dis-en-tan-gl-ing neurosis,
which infects them with disdain,
and which blocks their way ahead.
Sweltering with heated drama, crippled by a tragic trauma,
plagued by countless possibilities and consistent inability to
find a working answer to their challenged coexistence,
without strain, without resistance from the push and
pull of fate that is tragically fretted by a
repetitious chorus, saddled on the raging Taurus,
dragged across the fields of sorrow,
for the uninvited evening,
for the unexpected morrow,
they await their fateful end.

Sometimes a physical decease, other times a
demise of mind, soul and spirit;
sometimes a tragedy,
other times a release,
‘Till death do us part!’
is the inescapable conclusion.

It comes on slowly,
like mist at night.
They sense it, smell it,
feel it settle all around them,
yet pretend it’s not there.
They live on,
or think they do,
zombie-fied, living dead,
going through the motions,
pretending it’s ok,
chasing what was once worth
their dreams, breath and toil.

Chasing ghosts. With the spirit gone,
everything has evanesced,
and the animated turns sclerotic,
and the inevitable conclusion
becomes sought after in its physical
manifestation, so that they may experience
one last moment of intensity before
they lie back, close their eyes and rest in fucking peace.

Or they can be masters of their domain
from the onset, making arrangements
to live alongside each other with understanding,
dignity and mutual respect;
together but independent, interconnected but self-reliant,
without watering everything down to a tepid compromise,
or holding each other back, or asphyxiating each other.
Now there’s a thought for the coming generations.