The hunger for more

I have lost my appetite
for many things.
Many things
of which I thought they had 

various degrees of importance
at one point or another.

Some seemed vital
even though they now are
less than irrelevant.
Immaterial.

Ever since I embarked
on this makeshift voyage
of letting go,
ever more things
have lost their appeal.

Their lush intent, 

once so clear
and apparent
and charming
to me,
just faded.

I’m looking forward to
reaching twice my current age
to experience
the quality of disinterest
I have accomplished.
Will I be
abundantly empty?
Or will I just realise
how foolish my pursuit has been?
Will I have replaced it all
with another artifice?

Up to a certain,
and I can’t remember which,
age
I pined and craved
for more.
I was in constant search
of something definitive
but grossly undefined.
Even though my mind
was reasoning along
a more moderate
even minimalistic
path,
my deeper subconscious being
was tacitly in control,
as it is in most of us.

So I looked
and looked
everywhere
but as my reasoning mind
already knew,
there was nothing
to be found.

All along
it was not a matter of finding
but of finding out,
as I found out
leaving those
mighty material parts of me
behind.

Don’t
misunderstand me,
I’m not
denying my nature
or anything like that.
I’m just peeling off
the surplus.

I’m in that place
where desolation has attained
a rich flavour
that I like
and for which I have
developed a new kind of hunger.