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?

Advertisements

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.