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?

Game of speed

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.

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.

A forever

We are born of the stars in this restricting flesh

And yearn to discover our way back to origins.

We reach for the world and demand that it yields

The secrets of its essence to our greedy fingers

We hoist ourselves up and start walking away

With barely half-learnt worlds of knowledge

And seek the next thrill, the bigger enigma

Until we’ve given everything just a cursory glance.

It catches up to us after we learn how to speak

And realize we don’t quite own the descriptives,

So we throw ourselves in the things we suppose

Should be beyond words – convenient excuses

Until we forget not to take them so earnestly

And we waste eternities looking in one’s eyes

Searching for stars that twinkle ironically

On the other edge of pretty, fake lashes.

It takes us long whiles to realize the difference

Between momentary distraction and true value,

Until we separate what deserves our fascination,

We’ve already wasted forever on wrong paths

But it’s fine, because we’re children of the stars

And that’s only a forever out of the very many

That we get to experiment with and get wrong.

Maybe next time we’ll use those forevers more wisely.

Anything or everything you want

You will never get to know me.

There is something unique about me –

Some people can be anything they want,

But I have gone a step further,

And I became a strange everything.

The me-s that you have met in your life

Are not quite the rings of a tree,

But the changing layers of an agate,

Shredding chameleonic colours every year.

My selves bear little resemblance

To each other at a first glance.

They might be something like cousins,

Obviously raised from the same core,

Similar enough that those close to me

Know they stand in the same family’s house,

Despite the colours and the decorations

Changing with the seasons of life.

But, save the skeletion, so little is alike.

They are cousins who sometimes borrow

Clothes from one another, but in such a way

That one’s skirt is another’s dress,

And one’s casual is another’s fancy,

Their personalities so strong that

They distort reality just a little bit.

My years are like reading a good book

Throughout the stages of your life

And seeing something else every time,

Because the person reading is someone else.

You can’t know me, not because I am hidden,

But because I am still being discovered,

And I refuse to believe it has to do with age.

I hope I’ll be the same at 12 and 92 alike.

There is always something new to discover,

And finding the world always changes you.

You should always strive to be something new.

It’s the only way to try all anythings

Until you become everything you ever want.

For many years to come

Past paints our threads brilliant colours,

Stories of incredible gains and incredible sorrows,

And intricate knots to make the world’s fabric,

A little bit real and a whole lot of magic.

The pity, my dear, is that beautiful things

Need more and more colour upon their strings

Or the stories start fraying and becoming dull

An unearthly party can’t be followed by a lull.

But there’s only some paint, and my, it’s expensive,

And harder to find shades even slightly impressive.

We have to trade sometimes from what we have,

So we take our past beauties and those we halve.

We lose appreciation, but the image of us

Shines harmoniously, from greys to golds thus.

That’s the secret why things that burn brighter

Reach their end faster, too expensive the fiber.

But I’m hungry for texture, not mellow colour,

I have no issue to change one shade for another,

And make the design from knots, in relief,

Adding new changes to something too brief.

When you care less about being brighter than some,

The threads last instead for many years to come.

Should bes

Should bes, could bes, would have beens,
Big jumps from perceived virtues to actual sins,
More inertia gathering each passing day
Until you forget you should always have a say.
Mountains change, let alone people,
What has once been may not always be equal,
And nobody ever guarantees on timelines,
The only thing you really have is present signs.
Vague promises kept nobody warm at night,
There’s no right time to start putting things right,
Circumstances don’t make valid excuses
When people, instead of prevention, learn their uses.
The more you gave, the more you’ll feel like giving,
Surely you can’t throw it away on one misgiving,
And the gain should be coming any minute now,
That’s how things are supposed to work, anyhow.
But sometimes, sadly, the gain is the lesson
And not an act of some great concession.
Poor little thing, you should know no promises hold
When life is involved and lets fate unfold.

Letter across time

Imagine two points in time,
A past and a future,
A younger and an older you.
You are allowed to send one letter
But only in one direction.
Which do you choose?
Funny enough, I think I’d rather
Do the one that doesn’t
Contradict the laws of nature.
I’d rather hear from my past
Than have to write to it.
What would I write, anyway?
I can’t tell her my accomplishments –
The path one should follow
Is not a decision you are allowed
To take from someone, even yourself.
I’d rather, instead, listen
To the way I used to think,
Have the glasses to look at the world
In such a way as to make it
Make a different kind of sense.
I change every day,
And I want to remember
How exactly I used to be and why,
To chuckle at my naivety
And breathe in the melancholy
Of all the road that’s already passed.
Whichever direction it goes, though
I think there’s only one thing
That I’d absolutely need to hear.
‘It’s fine. You’re happy.
I’m proud of who you are.’
Because even across time,
Past the limit of my memory,
Or glimpsing into a distant future,
I know this is the case.
Because it’s up to me to be.


Which way would you rather your letter go?

Healing time

It’s said that time heals all wounds,
But it’s not time that does the healing, is it?
Time is just a necessary catalyst.
It’s like saying that fire boils water.
Fire is definitely needed in the process,
But I’m yet to see a fire start, look around,
See a pot of a water and spring to boil it.
Time is just an instrument we yield,
And healing comes from our skill in yielding it.
Time wouldn’t mend bones that you keep breaking,
Wouldn’t fix you if you don’t set them first,
So why would our souls be any different?
I think I didn’t quite understand the saying,
I think people misunderstand it every day,
Because it’s not about how much time passes,
It’s about whether you use it to make things right
Or if you keep making those mistakes,
And if your mistakes are meant to cross out
All the wrong choices until you find the right one
Or if you just become proficient at making mistakes.
Time is just the instrument.
We’re the ones who heal ourselves.

Three days quote – day 2

Hello everyone! Here we are on day 2.

Again, thank you so much to Soul Therapist for the nomination. Do check out the blog for some amazing writing.

My second quote is

‘Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.’ (Mahatma Gandhi)

While there are many things to be told about the second part of the quote (and I will probably get to say them at some point), my comment today focuses on the first part. It actually came to me before I even consciously knew what quote must have inspired it. And we all know that you can’t deny the muse when she comes.

What if today was the very last day,
These words your very last words.
When you wake up in the morning,
Consider that possibility
And never leave anything unsaid.
I have lived so much time in books
Because they give another dimension,
A life that makes more sense
In its hurried dystopian danger.
I’m sure it would be terrible
If it was actually to come true.
But maybe, somewhere in evolution,
Humans did forget what they’re doing.
We treat thriving like survival
And make a chore out of it.
We use probabilities to decide
What would make us happy and when,
But we wouldn’t ever do that
If we knew our time was limited.
I’m not encouraging hedonism
Pleasure shouldn’t be our only drive,
But maybe we could understand
What survival is, and that
Most of us already achieved it,
And separate it from the rest,
Stop worrying and timing enjoyment
And find a way to live
Without regret.


  1. Thank the person who nominated you
  2. Post a quote for three days
  3. Nominate three new bloggers each day


  1. Destiny Bergeron at ‘Lost in my notebook’
  2. S.M. Saves at ‘To My Recollection’
  3. A.I. Alex at ‘It’s a small world’

I know it’s not what you would usually post, but I hope you’ll give it a try 🙂

Thank you for reading, and see you all tomorrow!