Perfect Timings

 

Chasing sundowners in Berlin, Germany, 2024.

The innocence of perfect timings

sounds like an illusion, almost impossible 

yet something keeps us clinging, hoping

Perhaps it's in the rising of the sun, daily 

or the phases of the moon with promise

that tomorrow, the timing will make sense

Perhaps it's in the touches of laughter we share

the moments of vulnerability, to care

to let each other stroke our wounds

and feel every memory they carry with us

Such perfect timings that we get to marvel

at seasons that have made us cross paths

When perfect timings sit on the horizon

fading away like a mirage in the future

we glimpse at it in the distance with hope,

promises at heart, wishes in the stars

We are grounded by our imaginations

marveling at what tomorrow will bring

Or perhaps we are the perfect timings

placed in the places we are needed now

surrounded by the people we need now

What if perfect timings is us living now

What if we have always been there

and it was waiting for us to realize it

And so, wait, it is only a day closer

Hold onto those parts of each other

that keeps the wait worth the time

As seasons come and go in assurance 

the same assurance is for perfect timings

Everything works in its time for our good

I Made You...for Me

 A voice, you have none

because I made you for me

so it is only my voice you use

Do not abuse my belabourement

or confuse it for empowerment

and start to question my sanity

Where would you really be

if I did not pick you from the gutters

and give you the space to be seen

That is what you did not understand

that yours was to be beside me always

and be seen for how I made you

Then you even forget, without gratitude

and begin to talk, using my very voice

to give power to yourself, such selfishness

Even a hunter knows his place in the forest

he has no voice over the creatures of the thickets

he bows before them with humility, honours them

But you, that I gave a voice, such despot

you dare think you can use it on me

not even a servant speaks before his master

Tame your fibble illusions of empowerment

yours is like shouting in the echos of a forest

like a werewolf wounded in the night

You have no voice, that much I can promise

and if you think this is one of my crazy jokes

watch how I use my voice to subdue you

Petals in a bud...

Her soul in his hands is like petals in a bud

the sand timer started on her life then

petal after petal he flaked her being

season after season the petal dried

he thought they looked beautiful spread out

Little by little he got to the bud

and had her brittle soul exposed to the winds

the sand timer trickled some more

and then the heavier winds took the bud

it was too weak to stand its strength

Then he started to see the petals dry

still, they looked beautiful spread out

season after another he watched them

soon they withered and dried out

they could not hold on without the bud

It was like a soul was gone in time

and body decaying for lack of it

until the sand timer dropped its last

then he realises the petals are no more

he gathers them into a jar and waters them

He hopes they can turn a fiery beautiful

but no, the water can't bring the radiance

they are gone to another world 

to be created to another soul, maybe

but he's a man full of the pride of humanity

He stands the petals at the window

hoping the sun can bring them to life

his pride doesn't let him

he believes and hopes they spring

he owns them they are his

They will grow he tells his defeat

they must sprout he tells his ego

so, he tightens the lid of the jar

and waits even if his soul dies

he waits some more on the other side

But it takes them into a transition

another life, another sand of time

in the hope that they find a kinder soul

and maybe the bud can sprout again

hopefully the petals stay with the bud.