No past

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?

Because it’s special

That little red cup, chipped on the side,

The moth-eaten teddy bear falling apart,

That game to which you long lost the guide,

The drawings that are more scribble than art.

 

People surround themselves with useless things,

Forgotten trash that belongs firmly in the past

Because it’s special to them, healing slings

Symbols of things that went by too fast.

 

One man’s trash, another man’s treasure,

It’s a bit of a cliche by now perhaps

But you can’t measure memories and pleasure

What’s special to you shouldn’t be turned into scraps.

The deepest peace

Breathe in and close your eyes.

Listen to the silence and breathe out.

Breathe in, counting the heartbeats,

Feeling the way life pumps rhythmically,

And vibrate with it. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Open up your thoughts.

It’s time to understand who you are,

And who you are also comprises

What peace may mean to you.

It’s not always the same thing to all.

For some it’s unconditional acceptance,

So let your past flow through you, see it,

But don’t try to catch any of it –

Just let it fall where it may,

And love the unique patterns that it made.

For some it’s knowledge, understanding,

So grab your finest sieve and go,

Pull away and apart and together

Everything you can get your hands on,

And try to discover your inner laws,

Your force and gravity and center.

Now open your eyes and look around,

And do the very same thing with the world,

Find your place in any way you like,

Just remember that it’s about the process

Not about the end result.

Peace is the journey in spite

Of the destination. It’s the one thing

That makes a difference to you – you.

Breathe out.

I can’t pay you back

I can’t pay you back, not completely, not ever –

The world has given us different currencies

And there’s no measure that brings them together,

No way to ensure fair-play, certainties.

 

I think it was meant to work more like barter,

Exchanging things that we subjectively need,

A means to make us better, not smarter,

And paying forth, not back, should be creed.

 

Paying around could be another solution

When our means make no difference directly,

We can make elsewhere our contribution

And trust it will somehow find you correctly.

 

But certainly, the world is not made for paybacks,

It’s such a sad fate to stay and count debts

We learn, instead, to guess and fill in the cracks

And be happy with what one gives as one gets.

Gold veins

Everyone cracks into pieces sometimes –
It’s no wonder I became chipped too
But don’t expect me to hide my damage,
Ashamed and fearful of my past.
The events that shape who I am
Deserve more respect than to be ignored,
Shoved under the mat, erased, denied.
If you want you can see only the defect,
But I see the things I survived,
The things that made me stronger.
So I won’t hide my chips and cracks,
But bind them in shining gold,
Hoping, not dreading to catch your eye,
And show off my beautiful scars.
Maybe I look more fragmented now,
But I know the joints are actually
The places that will hold firmer
The next time I start to crack.
So I’m not afraid of breaking.
If anything, I’m looking forward to
The moment when I’m a crazy mingle
Of veins of cooper and silver and gold,
A work of art in tears and laughter,
The original porcelain in tiny bits,
Fragments within their mount of metal,
Each line a survival lesson in wisdom,
Turning pure china into precious stone.

Clueless pain

I sometimes envy you, my dear,
For never seeing things too clear.
I enjoy your childish pain,
Worrying when there is no gain.

Yes, I pity when you’re hollow,
But I wouldn’t jump and follow.
I got out, and I am proud.
Just if silence won’t be loud…

I do get to feel alone
On my higher golden throne.
Yes, you hurt, how won’t I know?
But it’s just you who thinks so.

It’s so innocent to suffer,
Trying to seem a bit tougher,
Hiding it but carrying such,
This is what I like so much.

It might hurt to hear rumors,
Hating them just like some tumors,
But it’s so nice, as it means
You don’t want there to be scenes.

It’s so clueless to worry
When they hurt, not feeling sorry,
Don’t feel hurt, ’cause they don’t care
Who you are and who they dare.

You are doing nothing wrong,
You don’t need to keep so strong.
And if they laugh, they will forget,
It’s just fun or just a bet.

But I love it, clueless pain,
Stormy hope, shining through rain,
Standing stress and horror mount
‘Cause you want yourself to count.

No one does. But I won’t tell;
Would hate it if your dreams fell.
And you count to who should matter,
Whose friendship won’t ever shatter.

Moments of Only Once

It has once been the sweetest smell,
To bring forth smile of the fresh-cut roses,
When waiting for my life to ring the entrance bell,
To open up Pandora’s box and see what it encloses.

But I forgot its taste and place,
Caught in the rustling of world’s silken skirts,
And when I tried to peek through time and space,
I’ve found on it’s been placed a curse.

All I could see through layers of such sweetness
Was, sickening, the feel of sugary decay.
Inside old strength I found my hidden weakness –
It changed so fast, so final, without lost time to play.

I’ve found this logic in my hidden thoughts,
That every sweet, hot spiking moment of the time,
If tried again it falters, chills and rots,
Designed to be felt only once, sweet crime.

From peaks and valleys, getting sick to walk,
The one to stand long moments in the heath
Is the straight way of only solid rock;
It’s peace, carrying the same, upwards, beneath.

Tell Me What Was

Tell me what it was
So I can tell you what will be.
Time is a wrapped kind of mirror,
A spiral dressed up as a straight line.
I know you try to walk forward
But history always repeats itself
So at least remember the minefields
And step just slightly off next time.
It’s a day paused on repeat
But you get to make different choices
So choose to explore the new,
The things you were afraid of
The first time you came round –
If you’ll crash and burn anyway
At least make a bet with yourself
How long you’ll last this time.
Being the same isn’t a sin,
As long as you do something different,
The same way doing the same isn’t
If you’re a different person this time.
Just make sure to break the mould
With even the slightest fracture
To set the water flowing through cracks.
A mere trickle is enough for now
You have your whole life to build it up
Just make sure by the time you’re done
You’re a whole ocean of streams,
Wide and vast enough that
It won’t matter that every direction
Looks like the exact mirror of others
If you have an ocean’s depth beneath.
Let others worry about surface
And work at the important dimension.
Time is a wrapped kind of mirror –
You can look at what was
And glimpse what will be
But not everybody realizes
That the pair of eyes
Each side of the glass
Need to be different kinds
To tell backward from forward
And face the right way to see.

Red Shoes

A shiny pair of red shoes
Forgotten in a corner.
In them I sometimes find my muse,
In their varnish armour.

How time would pass the pointy end:
Though shining still,
They somehow always get to blend
Forgotten on a window sill.

How can eyes wash over their scarlet
Hidden in the dusty past
When they’d’ve been worn by any starlet
If time wasn’t so fast.

And now, they’re just a dusty outline,
Colour melting into gray,
A faded sight, and feel, sometime divine…
How dull is this new day!