Far be it for me to will them to stop
When leaves sway by the wind,
Far be it for me to force the sand up
When hours and gravity drain it asunder,
Far be it for me to scaffold pieces
And have them fall as I want.
I may cup water with two half-moons
But it pours, drop chasing drop,
Like dominoes imprinting ripples
On a mind chained to the past.
Like a defective video game that spawns
And changes as I walk ahead
But banishes to thoughts chased in loneliness
The earth already trod.
I look over my shoulder in a denial of life
And let my mind waltz
In the shadowy meadows of what was,
I crave the blinders on horses’ eyes
That curtail all but what lies forth
Because I live, and life is will to hope
And pace, stroll, walk, drag on
With the rock chained at my pinion.
To feel is a boon, hope a divine freedom
So cast not aspersions on ghosts,
Embolden my hide, embrace fear and guilt;
Chase with the tide or against it
Rage against the dying light or with it
But to tomorrow is always the cry of today.
The photo is taken from Arnaav Bhavanani’s album: metro.pol : nyc