No, not the TV program
we binge-watched last
January.
Not knocking it, but I’m
talking about that lack
of care that’s lovely.
Not reckless, not lazy,
just an hour or more
of contented wonder.
More at https://onpossibilitypoems.blogspot.com/.
I never noticed that it all can
go so quiet sometimes. I can almost
hear the breaths and buzzes of a
a punk-looking bug that keeps
coming around my balcony, painted
in color of fire, mixed with a few
faces of cremated cloud. And
that sound of leaking faucet, remixed by
the moans of unseen
desires with wings and wheels.
The death of thoughts is the birth
of my no-mind. I see
pure nothingness morphing into
countless multiverses, before
I wake up to my
old world of decay and innocent sins.
They told me I’m old.
How old?
Have the stars touched down yet, bringing their melted beings to me?
Has the moon turned a thousand more times around so someone sees though the darkened pit?
Can I move without touching the blinded gravel that feels no rage now?
I am old in my eyes, my heart unseen.
Bring me toys of youth, bring me laughter. Help me. I am old they say, too old to stay.
Have you ever thought
Why sugar is sweet?
Why salt is not bitter?
If not then ask yourself now
I am sure you’ll rediscover yourself
And perhaps recreate your own fate!