a poem by Christuraj Alex

Death-like phantom, pathos, so dusk dark, seems to be calling,
Though not dry, like autumn leaves, in dreams, I feel like falling;
Where do all these illusions, like morning mushrooms, spring from?
Where do illnesses, like termites in weaker wood, fast germ?

Pathos peeps from the soul, like a mouse from a filthy hole,
Scrolls, like karate, bites, pouring within pure poison bowl;
Though not willing, owing impulse, I get so fast succumb,
Like a knave, forgotten his true self, I go madly numb.

Pathos casts my directions like the rudder in a ship,
From optimism to pessimism it changes fast the trip;
Finding feeble before the goals like Parkinson it shakes,
Like a kite whose thread is broken, it falls and licks dust flakes.

Anguish aggravates pathos; causing pains anonymous,
Humanity and the surroundings increase emptiness;
Fear, distress, panic… all get imported by the same boat,
Life turns into a den of devils of deviant gloat…

Pathos, as though fallen in a deep well, seeks sympathy,
Pity, anger, honey-flowing words, and wants empathy;
Positive thinking, prayerful living, and divine depth,
Pave the way to pass from pathos to existential breadth!