WOVEN

Just like interlacing old threads, moving from one moment to the next,

the absurdity of our lives woven into the normality of a child’s dreams.

Not rushed but short-lived, the day goes by with the wind,

with the hours,

with the errands,

and playing roulette with emotions.

I stall and stare back at my reflection, imagining what the next airflow will bring.

Perhaps a few degrees higher, dust in my eyes, ripped leaves,

perhaps a melancholic breeze.

A cheery flash, a burst of enthusiasm, a displacement.

 

 

Spring has brought carmine tulips to the neighborhood corners,

as an attempt to color the day with something new.

But all I see are the bold black strokes that draw the sidewalks,

the rough asphalt carrying heavy air.

If only somebody could answer me:

is there anything more beautiful than splendid turmoil?

 

Life is always,

always,

always,

always right.