I used to draw eyes.
Things beautiful and bright,
Made of shadow and light,
Some obscured, full of tears,
Rounded by surprise or by fears.
Maybe I needed someone to cry for me,
Or maybe I needed other eyes to see,
To give me a different perspective,
Or to see me, something reflective.
I used to draw eyes.
And then, one day, I just stopped.
No more of those eyes popped.
Maybe I finally saw what they’ve shown,
Or maybe, just maybe, I learnt to use my own.
The ideal person you wish to be,
That perfect image you’re aiming for,
What if part of you is already free
And you are that deep in your core?
We’re afraid to do what we want,
Or idle in front of the change,
And it remains merely a taunt,
There, but still out of range.
But if we know we’re already that,
We’re less scared of losing the way.
We know where we want to get at,
And the path on which we should stay.
So think of things that better you
Instead of unexpected evolutions,
As things that bring out your true
And keep looking for solutions.
Go on, break something already broken,
Dance on the crumbles, singing, if you will.
It makes little difference. Slightly more work
To hold and put together again.
But it’s the first crack that changes the stautus,
The first blemish between damaged and whole.
There’s a next step, destroyed, not just broken
But you’re a long way from having that force.
So go on, try to break something broken,
And leave the pure, whole things be.
I’ve lain down to watch
The abyss from above us
Till it flipped beneath.
A dark and a light, a good and a bad,
Are they the same or a different dyad?
It’s the first thing you thought, isn’t it?
That it’s the bad, the evil, the odd and misfit.
But think about the dark side of the moon.
Once it’s far, about that unrelated balloon
We know it means just the mystery, hidden,
With no judgment attached to make it forbidden.
What if we turned other things around too,
Changed the perspective to give us a clue?
Maybe the things we so often despise
Look quite a bit different seen through the eyes
That are used to darkness and all of its shades,
And we may finally stop our crusades.
Don’t mistake one contrast for the next,
It just gives ignorance an easy pretext.
It’s always past, present and future.
We insist on this delimitation,
And get caught up in its tangles.
Do we realize, I wonder,
That this is not its natural state?
There are no true records of the past.
Our brains themselves can’t do it,
Can’t bring forth a snapshot of a memory.
Time is information, in a fluid state,
And what has happened before influences
What we know and let happen next.
And the more we know, the more different
We will perceive what has once been.
Once something is done, you can’t undo it,
Can’t return, or understand anymore
The state you had before it all.
Like time travel. If it works,
It will only ever be in one way.
And yet we get so hung up on the past,
Do so many things for the glory of it,
Sacrifice so much to recapture it.
Do so few of us understand it is gone,
The stepping stones turning to water
Once they have delivered you to the next?
Do not worry for gods, legends and immortals,
For you do things they never possibly could.
It’s nothing, fighting wars and ruling nations
When you have a thousand tries of each.
Finding peace and enlightenment is easier
When you have a whole century to err,
A decade to mourn, years to wander, lost,
And time on top to despair, to wail, and slowly
To relearn how to drag yourself to your feet.
We, humans, are not that. We have minutes
For things our heroes spend lifetimes on,
Before we have to plow ahead and do our miracles.
It’s not a game of greatness for us, never been,
It’s a game of speed. The worthy among us
Are the ones who dust themselves off quickest
After their falls, and whose luck holds firmest
To keep them stumbling but still on two feet.
We fear the failures, but they don’t matter
In the short, short spans that we all have,
It just matters keeping hold of your tickets
On this mad ride on the life’s carousel.