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/ Curiosity is like drinking without satisfaction of thirstt. The moment I ask a question it turns out to be a corpse


I am not a dervish whirling

round and round

I am not the motion of rotation

Somehow I am the turning itself

When did I set this imaginary focus?

I forgot at all

Say the diameter is smaller than a point

Say it is the entire universe

Hypnotized by the swirl of desires

I am not a passionflower but the craving itself

Which compass can draw me?

What exists always appears entrapped

No escape from restrains, moaning is useless

for I am the molding itself

and for the black hole embedded in the subject

a gap is sitting in each of my sentences

I am not matter rather I need matter to be

I will dissolve instantly if I lose the objects in attention

Yet I am not scattered mist, nor a sacred mute stone

I can’t reveal merely what I am made of

Which jeweler can assess me?

I am not a bridge over time

instead the flowing.

I am not breath, except the blowing

I am not fire

I never was inflammable

I am no more than the burning itself

Wise men talk about the One

I know I am not an aggregate of many

No cement builds up emptiness

No One can add void on void

I feel incomplete in this weird part-whole relation

I am not a bundle of straws, but the bonding itself.

Which number can count me?

Laws of nature await my attempts of violation

once I remember, I am the bending itself

I fell from heaven according to a notorious tale

I wonder if this falling apart

would ever come to an end

I descend and descend

hence I got sure

I am bottomless descending

I am not a pilgrim, nor a victim, just an exile

as long as home is a place

holding the pieces that have gone astray

I am the yearning, I am the longing itself

Which scale can measure me?

Curiosity is like drinking without satisfaction of thirst

The moment I ask a question

it turns out to be a corpse

Say I am creating by thinking

Say I am giving birth in love

In fact no act reveals the mystery

I am neither the myth of God

nor a loudmouth narrator

at most I am the telling itself

My master believes that the only

real thing is the Word

Did he forget the liar paradox

or I got him wrong?

All my words are lies without any exclusion

I regret, but I am the lying itself

Which truth can save me?

- - - - - - -

July 2012, Asos

*Title is inspired by Immanuel Kant's one of latest articles "Der Selbstsetzungslehre" (Selfsittinglearning) published in Opus Postumum after his death.

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