Ishaisms, Poetry


What weight of burden does it take for the soul to give up?

What state of sorrow laden in the heart makes it so feeble?

What fear, what apprehension does make the mind tremble?

What makes one shun oneself from the world and escape into a blur?

Hide away from all memories, from existence, from all concern –

inflicted by the self, and not by others, in the long run –

to derive happiness in detachment and isolation,

become a living corpse wandering the ruins of the earth…

All the pillars of strength come quaking, crashing down,

no shred of confidence left, no attachment, all glory gone –

naught but an ache, a craving for true novel freedom,

making one cling to dear life, thinking one day this pain will be done!

What does one do, when everything finally comes to a head, the masts split –

when the sails come undone, and the only way out is to quit, to sink?

Can one survive when the only boon from the Box, Hope, has abandoned ship;

or must one make peace with her and drown, ceasing to blink?

What hope for the blind who has ceased to look to hope –

for one who can no more picture the harbour, let alone the safe shore?

What life for one, for whom death has become the only way to live,

and the only way to live in the waking reality, is to sleep?

© Isha Garg

63 thoughts on “Hopelessness”

  1. This is different from the usual Isha, questioning without offering the profound answers as we dear readers are accustomed to. Reading again gives a faint taste and a whiff of romance, romancing the despair.. were we?

    Liked by 1 person

      1. A dark tunnel leading to poetry..that explains it, now that you said it. I would have given despair a gray rug and a tut tut.
        You are a true poet, something we can only aspire to be.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Haha, “I would have given despair a gray rug and a tut tut.” – you are a true poet too! Thank you ESP! Despair must have a point and I insist on making that point “Poetry”!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Nothing fulfills a work morning more than precious minutes with such evocative words.
    I am up the ship’s mast… and when hope is almost gone I spy a land of promise and swaying palms. Thankful for a superb write dear Isha. Shine on sweet poet 💖💖🌹🌹

    Liked by 1 person

      1. And for you there is a red carpet unfurled on the sand … to welcome a writer of renown! Tonight there will be moonlit celebrations and a clambake and… (Diana is off on a tangent once more)…

        Liked by 1 person

    1. What words to read early in the morning and from such a poet at that! 🙌
      Thank you so much Drew! It took me a while to post this due to its personal connotations. Being such an insightful reader, you must have connected to the rawness of it, and gushed in appreciation. I’m so thankful!

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh my! I’m so touched by your words dear Walt! You’ve been such a wonderful friend throughout and believed in me since the beginning, I really appreciate you and your words, in and out of Ishaisms! 💛😇

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Lovely. I wish we did a better job teaching grief – generation to generation. We lose parents, friendships, our beauty with age, jobs, homes and marriages. Joy is always in the moment – the existential. Letting go. Acceptance. Self-realization in the now. Maybe this is why I love the artists and poets. Creativity is the divine at work – a spiritual awakening birthed in the present.

    Liked by 1 person

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