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Sisyphus must eternally roll the stone
up to the summit of stiff gray rock.
On his door, plight always doth knock.
Still the deadly endgame he plays on…
Grinning gods invent newer stratagems;
Eternal Tartarus waits for me and Sisyphus.
Thirst throttles the throat as it does
to the throat of the man to be hanged.
Despair is the spoilt child of Mother Sin
Mounting the insurmountable cliff,
Anxiety eats into the marrow of life.
Thwarted is the growth of reason.
Face is stone…life is myth and a riddle:
to confront the gods or to compromise?
Blood and sweat ooze from the body
I must eternally roll the stone… |
