The People Who Forgot the Change

We will always like the past for what it gave, for what it stood, for what it taught us to build, to respect. For we dislike the present we now so easily remember, store, collect. And we still look back because before is better. Before is younger. Before felt newer, fresher. Before everything was easy. Now we know it already. We need to travel further afield to be marvelled. To find something new. Now we are more tired and struggle to remember. Remember what made us, remember that change has come and gone, always. And our minds shrink under a strong wind of time that never flows back but always returns, on our lawns, on our newspapers, in our ears, in the food we eat, in the bright sky we see each morning. Sometimes it is not obvious how we got here, how we have grown, evolved. How did we fit as small ants in the obnoxious course of civilisation? The answer is always to accept a failed accomplishment, an undone achievement, we made no difference. Our future has worsened. That is because we can only moan for not touching with hand the change that goes through in our minds, in our society, in our faith or ideology, in what travels around us. For change is there and always, and we may change without even realising and without noticing how our eagerness is rewarded. Our mind's focus struggles to change and forget where it is, where it has been and where it could go. Our bodies like to change the looks, the environment; peer pressure to please, welcome, join, accept, the tiny section of world you live in. A man sitting on a bench in the park for ten years is seen as the man who will miss the great news, the big changes, history itself. A man travelling the world, meeting the people, may never see the light of change for he forgets what was learned, what changed inside, what made him or her. And we all blame the past and present for not giving us a future when the change that came through is hardly acknowledged as simply the products of our own hearts and minds.

The Friend Lost in a Cloud of Smoke

And a broken message. A broken buzz in the echo of one thousand blips. It will notify the people it won't need. It will slip through on the rolling credits of a life wasted away on coloured screens. It will grease your fingers, tapping away the letters and numbers of unknown acquaintances and befriended strangers. Traces of textual conscience covering the walls, the clothes, the roads, grabbing what is left of a link I hardly recognise. The face is gone. The eye might be there. No voice to be heard but the sounds of our hearts beating their drum as the computer finally switches itself off to burn plastic over flesh, leather over skin. We shall pick our spades and spears to clash in a war we misunderstood. The lies make the game worthwile, until truth leaves us naked to a blank monitor, asleep, still buzzing, still beeping, still reminding us our artificial friend never left us and never will.

The People in Disarray

In pain I won't move against winds I cannot control. And I swear it will slowly slide down, spinning into a narrow tube, coming out of nowhere. Support is then at hand, for a grasp, for an ultimate grip, for the missed swing when a jump is all I needed. Take my hand and we will run over there where the sun sets, where the clouds hide away, where sun and moon exchange glances, exchange jugs and kisses. While we all push and pull to get where we were told to go. For we are the people with no order, with no idea other than theirs. And in disarray we fall out of rank. In disarray we fall out with each other. In disarray we cry and sigh while we stomp our feet against all the injustice we fuelled in the first place. What a disgrace!

The Man Circling Around Thick Air

Heavy turbulence makes you shift, makes you turn, makes you twist...and I twirl with my eyes fixed to the thick dust watering my eyes until they are filled and overwhelmed. I cannot see further for my sight is now despicable and unreliable. But I still circle in an infinite loop until I lose all meaning, all objectives, in a vortex spinning round across the fruitless land. I circle with strength, with heat transpiring through thick tissue, through run-down veins, as the sweat suddenly freezes and stands still. My eyes still fixed. My position now static in the eye of the tornado. My life around the pillar of thick air I will form each day, inconsistent, un-built, like a presence in a town of ghosts, following the direction of the wind and then slowly dissipating as I come to a stand-still. For I circle around with no intention to move forward, move on, and change the stale air falling heavily on my shoulders, my lungs, and my being altogether.

The Woman in Distrust of God

I will not believe, and I will not follow, for there is no reason to raise faith up while on a downward spiral. Questioning me, perhaps, would work as she stepped aside in the empty space. Emptiness that longs to be filled in, never satisfied, never in reach of what we grasp - do I boast for more? Is this a right waiting to serve the unlawful, uncongratulated, unrecognised? And as the principle turned on its head, you are cast away in the void of what is not accepted, you are shied away from the shiny promises. And my distrust is here to destroy you...

The Man Sucking on a Lemon

Yesterday the news came. And today I am still unknown, a mystery ready to vanish in thin air. For we are real in milliseconds, disintegrating at a slow-motion speed, through time, through space, through some sort of continuum I still hang on. Perhaps there is no real fear to wait for, no real concern to attend, and from then on a spiral of indifference and unforgiveness spread through the land, through the villages, through common places I never recognise. What is there to recognise when the smallest act is just in ruins, when the smallest expectation is simply dead in principle - aren't we all giving up? I hear the music, I hear the banging cutlery, I hear the Valkyrie coming to the rescue, I hear that Yellow Lemon with no perfection gleaming through the eyes of uncertainty, through the comforts of status quo, through the perceptions of neat misunderstanding. And I quote what is not real, as we heard way too much. And I stand up on the top of the hill, on the top of your heads, and I see that Sun embracing the Moon, I see those Stars embracing the Planets... and I wish there is more to see, even when there is nothing to go through, nothing to come through, nothing to bear through these hard times we write and describe for. I know I will still be here waiting for you, for what you make of me will be greater than the Sun and the Moon, greater than the Stars and the Planets, greater than idea and buildings, and I will feel so small, so scared. Curling against this cold wind soon to calm down, I rest my case, I simply rest my case. Did I even start it in the first place? Not sure...What if I want to stay put? What would the problem be? Would I sulk too much? Would I sink too much? I prefer to say my soul, my spirit, they know best as they float in the surrealism and the absurdity we admire and breathe day in day out.

The Group on The Other Side of a Black Fence

I saw you in the pictures. Did you stare at me for no reason? Did you stare for the pleasure of challenging me to a fight to the death? I saw you in slow-motion picking up the pieces, making them swirl and shape, watching through the eyes of a never-ending present, a never-changing moment. If there is envy or jealousy in my words, then what else is left for me to live? If there is digust in what I say, then where would I need to escape? As you turned the clock hands one more time, the faces you used to see have now gone, some of them stayed with blank looks, others are perhaps still here around you, still hear to make a sense. As the cold melts and the wind blows its freezing breath on the last winter days, there is no other way to realise how the page turns even when you think the chapter is closed. I still saw you in pictures with no concern over human property, with no empathy over human connections. I guess everyone fights for their corner, and it might be blissful from your end, as well as theirs, or even mine. You, me, and everyone else, will never see how dirt and dust wrap the external surface of our fence. You, me, and everyone else, will live for what we are limited to see. And perhaps this is what it all comes down to - no escape, no hideout, a simple view to someone's reality.