You said, ‘I
will become the rain,’
and I did not
know what this meant.
What is it that
walks around the world
without any shoes?
The instinct we
have is always to believe
that we alone
are right
about everything.
‘We are riding
the waves on the sea of time,’
I eventually
replied, facetiously.
‘No,’ you
replied, with a face as earnest
as a sheet of
glass.
‘We are the
waves
and the sea is not
of time,
but of the
universe.’
We waited in vain
while happy childhood memories
photocopied
themselves out of existence,
until all we
had left
was all that
had left us.
Our songs no
longer played in the key of happiness.
Life must have
difficulty,
and the only
thing you have control over is yourself,
and you don’t
even have that, not fully.
Celebrate your
existence on days
other than your
birthday.
You know what I
don’t like about novels?
The feeling of
disappointment at the end.
When you told
me, for the umpteen millionth time,
‘You should
write your life story,’
I couldn’t put
it any simpler than,
‘But I don’t like
melodramas,
and: the past is
of little interest
when compared to
the writing of a new poem.’
If you are
adopted,
reality is a
sheet which covers the truth.
My journey
through life was punctuated
with land mines
and lemon groves.
All they did
was graffiti exclamation marks
on the walls of
reality.
You do not
conquer mountains.
Do you
understand yet? No?
Well read the
bloody poem again.
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