The Inhuman Face

For they know not... they serve split between,
The spying eye without, and calls within -
Precious shall save their object souls?
In privy dark, on sleepless parole.

For though they think... they've fled for sure,
The plight of forms to dwell secure,
And reveal in narcissistic escape;
None to discern their raving scrapes...

As of when they remain as ever,
Whilst transgressions formless waver,
Caricatured to the damning gaze!
Be barely bothered; it bears unfazed.

In thus confused loneliness I seek,
Traces of the inhuman streak,
Where voices dry while pages speak,
From faces furiously opaque.

Reviews

[Brad Dehler]

Definitely feels like a dystopian landscape with humanity as the culprit. Thank you for this. What was your particular inspiration for this? Such a sad take, but perhaps and unfortunately true to human kind.

[Swagato Saha]

Yes, but I think I take the side of the inhuman, or rather the post-human as it were. Humanity is in the gesture of narcissistic recoil, whereas the post-human much rather attempts to realise a different form. One can think perhaps of someone like Beethoven - isn't it the case that in his attempt to set music to a different form (Romantic) he effectively relinquishes his inner substantial content? Beethoven - the person - has to die, turn irrelevant, so that his musical form prevails as all that ever was. The rest of his life and the rest of his doings are mere backdrop that provide the conditions for his transformation of music.