People I find Hard to Explain..

[GHA]

My son Write this in high school..

Laying my marble on walls which themselves are unlaid, I talk to this wind which moves along in my endless ways. Grass stirs up and then gets decayed; plains I shovel find no stream to carry the soil away.I see delays and pauses in what bursts and then culminates in this universe; soul rides across those hues and arches that are scraped and displaced as centuries disengage and disintegrate. Corners are filled with forgone moments, open-air swirl in circles and remains tied to emptiness within me. Attracting all those spaces around, what I connect, revolves and then devolves in me, while robes that behold plunge in despair

Through these robes I see a world stripped of its own truce. World that I have known, have been so unknown to me, feathers to fly have often disappeared from my glides, roses to savour have pricked me.People I had known in moist of many wheezes, in streets of myriad loves have been so unknown to me. They are People I find hard to explain, people I find so distant to what I brim. Never have I ascended their horizons to concur stars that live and die in me. Never have I hummed on their tunes to bridge so many expressions that remain unexpressed in me.

Strangers they are to my inner deliberation, I have never been liberated to exteriors they unveil. In huddle of their voices, I have lingered on my own, without any purpose, but never have they been a voice that resounds a purpose to me. Never had I known what is happiness in these corridors, never have I known what it is to be sufficed within these globules. Roads I have trekked haven’t journeyed me, trails I have followed haven’t carried me, in those invisible clouts I have been fragment disowned, an erosion unconsoled. Beneath the surface of my furbish, there is tainted isle for you to see, thickened in mist of sorrow there remains a mountain of contradiction that is for no one to see, a sea of restlessness with unending depth for no one to see. So I dip and rise in my own figment, as this nothingness ceases to define disparage around me.

 

[tree]

Poetic.

 

[MerCsDs]

My son Write this in high school..

Laying my marble on walls which themselves are unlaid, I talk to this wind which moves along in my endless ways. Grass stirs up and then gets decayed; plains I shovel find no stream to carry the soil away.I see delays and pauses in what bursts and then culminates in this universe; soul rides across those hues and arches that are scraped and displaced as centuries disengage and disintegrate. Corners are filled with forgone moments, open-air swirl in circles and remains tied to emptiness within me. Attracting all those spaces around, what I connect, revolves and then devolves in me, while robes that behold plunge in despair

Through these robes I see a world stripped of its own truce. World that I have known, have been so unknown to me, feathers to fly have often disappeared from my glides, roses to savour have pricked me.People I had known in moist of many wheezes, in streets of myriad loves have been so unknown to me. They are People I find hard to explain, people I find so distant to what I brim. Never have I ascended their horizons to concur stars that live and die in me. Never have I hummed on their tunes to bridge so many expressions that remain unexpressed in me.

Strangers they are to my inner deliberation, I have never been liberated to exteriors they unveil. In huddle of their voices, I have lingered on my own, without any purpose, but never have they been a voice that resounds a purpose to me. Never had I known what is happiness in these corridors, never have I known what it is to be sufficed within these globules. Roads I have trekked haven’t journeyed me, trails I have followed haven’t carried me, in those invisible clouts I have been fragment disowned, an erosion unconsoled. Beneath the surface of my furbish, there is tainted isle for you to see, thickened in mist of sorrow there remains a mountain of contradiction that is for no one to see, a sea of restlessness with unending depth for no one to see. So I dip and rise in my own figment, as this nothingness ceases to define disparage around me.

I can’t even get to everything about why but this is incredible. Very saddening to and conveys so much about the passing and cycle of things that you witness. It reminds of deeper feelings of isolation and purposeless loneliness, I dealt with for a long time before realizing that those exacts things I observe and have the ability to experience in the first place are my purpose.

I was so angry at our world and society for making it harder for me to experience and instead being pressured to consume relentlessly even though I did not want to and it didn’t help me. Especially living with autism, even now I hate living because it’s smelly, loud, uncomfortable and I lack my own space but I love my life since I can experience, since I am the me that I experience things with and I can write and read. This poem and art that I relate to makes it purposeful, because with evokes me to feel and experience more and feel seen by others who simply share their experience but I can perceive mine in it too.
I hate the whole discourse about the human’s purpose is to reproduce, that’s the biological function not our purpose. Scientific knowledge doesn’t believe in nature having any inherent purpose and I see it the same way, not because of me being a pessimist or nihilist simply since the world doesn’t exist for a reason, it just does and man is it incredible just like that. Purpose, function are human sentient concepts to communicate but conform reality to that same level ‘concepts,’ we are not concepts and don’t experience things like that though concepts helps us communicate: I’m happy but sad that your son wrote this but I’m happy that he expressed it but sad that he might feel purposeless. And thank you very much for sharing it and credit him.

 

[GHA]

My son Write this in high school..

Laying my marble on walls which themselves are unlaid, I talk to this wind which moves along in my endless ways. Grass stirs up and then gets decayed; plains I shovel find no stream to carry the soil away.I see delays and pauses in what bursts and then culminates in this universe; soul rides across those hues and arches that are scraped and displaced as centuries disengage and disintegrate. Corners are filled with forgone moments, open-air swirl in circles and remains tied to emptiness within me. Attracting all those spaces around, what I connect, revolves and then devolves in me, while robes that behold plunge in despair

Through these robes I see a world stripped of its own truce. World that I have known, have been so unknown to me, feathers to fly have often disappeared from my glides, roses to savour have pricked me.People I had known in moist of many wheezes, in streets of myriad loves have been so unknown to me. They are People I find hard to explain, people I find so distant to what I brim. Never have I ascended their horizons to concur stars that live and die in me. Never have I hummed on their tunes to bridge so many expressions that remain unexpressed in me.

Strangers they are to my inner deliberation, I have never been liberated to exteriors they unveil. In huddle of their voices, I have lingered on my own, without any purpose, but never have they been a voice that resounds a purpose to me. Never had I known what is happiness in these corridors, never have I known what it is to be sufficed within these globules. Roads I have trekked haven’t journeyed me, trails I have followed haven’t carried me, in those invisible clouts I have been fragment disowned, an erosion unconsoled. Beneath the surface of my furbish, there is tainted isle for you to see, thickened in mist of sorrow there remains a mountain of contradiction that is for no one to see, a sea of restlessness with unending depth for no one to see. So I dip and rise in my own figment, as this nothingness ceases to define disparage around me.

Your words mean a great deal — both for how deeply you connected with my son’s writing and for the openness with which you shared your own experience. I think what you’ve described — that ability to feel, to observe, to experience the world in its raw form, and to translate it into thought or art — is something my son also carries.
When I read your reflections on purpose, and how it can be found in the act of experiencing itself, it reminded me of why I’ve always valued his work. Even when the themes are heavy, they are honest — and in that honesty, they reach people who recognise themselves in it, just as you have.
My son is now grown into a well-respected professional, artist, and writer. That journey would not have been possible without the family learning to understand him and the way his mind works — including the unique genius that shapes his work. I can’t speak for his inner state beyond what he chooses to express, but I know that for him, the act of writing is not about explaining life so much as capturing how it feels in all its contradictions.
I’m grateful that you felt seen in his words, because as a father, that’s the most meaningful thing for me — that his inner voice resonates with someone else’s. Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with such depth.