The day I was supposed to ignore

The soundless ring of the alarm,

The burnt toast, the broken elevator,

That unplanned tube strike

That made me curse loudly, forgetting

That trains are manned by people,

Not robots that live to serve me.

I could have written off technology

My brain knew to deal in numbers

And I could have assumed a coincidence.

But it was people, it’s always people,

And there was an inkling in my mind

Telling me the probabilities

Didn’t add up right, that maybe

That day was supposed to be something.

It was a day I was supposed to ignore,

But not the way I did. Not by shrugging

And borrowing the neighbour’s car,

Even though I hadn’t driven in so long.

I kept on trying to salvage it

Despite the heavy traffic,

Despite the impossibility to ever

Make my meetings on time. I tried

To contradict fate, with hands on the wheel

And the phone tucked in my shoulder.

I never saw it coming.

It was the day I was supposed to ignore,

To skip over, to opt out of.

And because I didn’t, I’ll spend

The rest of my life having

A day I’m desperately trying to forget.

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Of fortune

Fascinating word, is it not?

Without context, what meaning has it got?

There’s a fortune in silver and gold

That keeps you fed and out of the cold,

And there’s a fortune that is good and kind

And resides far more in the mind.

It’s fortunate if you earn a fortune,

But you can’t fortunately have good fortune

And I just wonder who decides

What works according to which guides.

And how funny that money so rarely

Is linked to fate in any way fairly –

It’s only when it belongs to ourselves

That we admit in effort it delves;

For everybody else, it’s blind luck

And it’s up to fortune where it struck.

Fortune. I wonder how much it reveals

The first meaning that comes on its heels.

…………………………………..

Your mirror is trying to get your attention.

It whispers in the night that you are ……

What are you? Doomed? Beautiful? Not alone?

Morning comes and you greet the new day.

You tell it it’s going to be ……. today.

What will your day be? Sad? Good? The last?

You go through your life, and you think things.

You tell yourself that you are so ……

How are you? Unlucky? Intelligent? Brave?

No, you’re not all powerful.

The way you choose to complete your dots

Doesn’t automatically make the universe obey.

Sometimes it doesn’t want to.

Sometimes it’s not up to you, and it needs

More than one person to shout the same thing

So it even starts noticing the whisper.

But your dots do make a difference.

If you negociate something, always go first.

No matter how unrealistic, it sets the tone.

You can’t get a star if you ask for dirt,

But you just might if you first ask for the moon.

You’re the only one who can decide

Between which answers the result is chosen,

And the only one who decides how long

You ignore the universe ignoring your answers,

And how hard you fight to make yourself heard.

So how will you complete your dots?

Steps of the way

The fragile lattice of the steps to the present
A long-reaching pattern whose each piece was meant
What would have happened from a fault in the web?
What would that matter to the flow and the ebb?
A thousand new branches open up every day,
A thousand new choices that determine the way,
An impossible design of possible futures
A game to which we fancy ourselves rulers
Even with only seeing three paces ahead.
Abysmal possibilities that may fill with dread,
How do we control a world ruled by chance,
How do we plan the retreats and advance?
Unless, of course, what’s meant to be will
Despite the bends, mazes, struggles uphill.
Should it be shameful we cling to this hope,
Absurd predestinations to help us to cope
With staring down an abyss that gently looks back
While we lack the language to answer its black?
Is this to be the extent of our free will,
Choosing the route, but converging paths still?
Is this why the journey is the one that should matter,
If it’s only it that can end worse or better?
Or maybe, somehow, it comes back to skills,
More knowledge unlocking more possible thrills,
And only the wise may find out the secrets,
The rest of us herded off among senseless spirits.
I can’t figure out the intricate patterns,
But maybe, one day, I’ll understand what matters.

Cast the dice

Tell me all about
Your carefully laid-out plans
And all your contingencies,
Your armies of lists
And swarms of possibilities.
I promise I’ll listen,
But don’t demand I don’t laugh
When Heaven itself chuckles –
There’s no amount of preparation
That can turn the tide of fate.
I’m not saying don’t think ahead
And charge into life like a fool –
Your fire may keep you warm
But it won’t protect
Your bare, shivering skin
From thorns and cuts and bruises.
There’s a difference, though,
Between being aware of dangers
And making up some of your own.
Look before you leap,
But not to the bottom of the sea
Just take a deep breath
And trust yourself to deal.
You can’t survive a war if
Your overthinking kills your spirit
Long before the battlefield.
So cast the dice already
And let it be.