As if
Not far from the night
As if the days are no longer the days
Life touches the length of the axial sky
Marginally deviating from the circumference of existence
Swerving in a closer circle of perambulating dreams
Blues of time revolve with a twang of bowing arrows
Occasionally touching the skin of the corpse of ancient sighs
The grasshopper leaves no shadows as usual
As usual the streetcar marches on chasing quivering sound of tolling bell
All desires metamorphosing into nothingness of melancholy
All orbital hopes briefly stopping at the holy grail
As if to breathe life from a point of no return
As if life has come a full circle at the end of a long quest
The colour of days and nights fading in solemn delight
The cry of the ever rising dawn reverberating in sultry silence
The man born into the season of hungry autumn begs no mercy
Saying nothing evenly to propagate the laws of circumstances
As if the happening moments are destined to happen so circumstantially.

As if this is life of all consequences
All twists and turns exiting in a closer circle
As if life begets days after nights but no season of all rains or sunshine.

Categories: quovadis [t]

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