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Tamara's avatar

Reading your poem felt like swallowing seawater in the middle of an existential monologue, burning, bracing, and oddly clarifying. It depicts the void and it embodies it, with a rhythm that feels like drifting, adrift, not directionless, because there’s intent in the surrender. What struck me the most was the bitter elegance of defiance: the choice not to hope, but to name the water home, a sovereign act of survival pretending to be madness. That’s where I found a new nuance, not just the tragedy of the void, but the creativity of the lost.

Because when the world disintegrates, language doesn’t retreat, it rebels. Drawing borders where none exist, naming ghosts, conversing with mist. The poem reminds me that even when nothing holds, naming still does. It’s a cartographer’s cry from within the chaos: if no maps are left, I’ll make one from memory, inked in salt. And that, to me, is the most human thing imaginable.

Thank you for this wonderful poem!

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