The Mathematician's frustrations
A just read book, an unfinished essay, a myriad of
meaningless symbols,
a pen
half-filled with ink
or perhaps
half empty
a can of coke a dirty plate with remnants of my meal
lying on 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 strife
naively and
ardently,
expecting
or craving
that knowledge preserved in books
perused over the pages
would answer unknown riddles
solve the puzzles of life.
A single point - one more
- producing a line in unison -
others combine
shapes of complex forms are created
filling space, 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
the world becomes more prosaic overall.
Lies, perhaps buried in lies
the validity of the
being
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 sceptic 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.