The Age of the Blackholes

Floating silhouettes in the darkness of the space;
history formed us through eras
from simple solid objects with fix dynamics
into an unknown, hideous mass.

We share the shape that’s not our shape,
only the abstract play of our past;
how and what lightbeam we hide away,
push away and blend is mistery.

We share a space that’s not our space,
what we lived surpasses all;
then, when we collide we create a new,
another place never seen.

We share an age that’s not our age,
our past is mere illusion,
faintly reflecting on the present
that is already unknown.

Floating mysterious mass of data,
unseenable, unreadable;
we are nothingness- and infinity-close
big noisy-silent mess of backholes.

Benyamin Bensalah

03.06.2021

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