The Other Side of the Moon
a Matehmatician's frustration
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A just read book, an unfinished essay,
a myriad of meaningless symbols,
half-filled with ink,
or perhaps as says the cliche,
half empty as well;
a can of coke,
a seedy plate with remnants of my meal
lying lonely by the table for eleven days or more...
ideologies, rhapsodies, theories
ideas and revelations
a thesis to be produced.
A poor student chasing a paper
with patience and with strife;
naively and ardently,
that the knowledge preserved in books,
perused over the pages,
would answer the unknown riddles
and solve the puzzles of life.
A single point --one more
- producing a line in unison-
and shapes are created of complex forms,
filling the space and defining emptiness,
providing knowledge with a certain definitiveness,
creating a logical world,
charms and enchantments reduced.
The answer appears translucent,
as the shapes possess the holes
that appeared bizarre and fuzzy
and the world becomes more prosaic overall.
Lies, perhaps buried in lies,
the validity of the
of the two innocent points,
and the concepts which with them shine..
the axioms that can't be proved.
Yet needs and desires fulfilled
the points may stay in peace.
A skeptic cannot exist-
asking why we survive
diminishes our urge to live -
a moronic paradox
programmed by evolution,
or perhaps by mother nature
into our own equations.
Life must indeed go on,
and we write in black and white
the secrets we have learnt.