I am a victim to my own furious will.
I am slave-driver of Sisyphus
Search for me in the seas and stones
Search for me in wind and sand
I am the apex bud of the Sidrat tree
I am the lifespan of a gnat
I am the Juggernaut crushing
It is I before the terrified scientist
It is I who grant the rain and sun
Plant your seeds, then
I feign death before the Sinner
I fold within myself and expand
I consume myself from the tail
I tear down Iblis from Heaven to Hell
I return to the Hand that snaps back
I flow from the Hand that lets loose
Shape your stones and plastics
Carve your edicts in my consort
Wrestle with me O Prophet
It is I, who is never defeated
Murderer of the ancestor and the child
Foolish Man who cast spears at me
I am violated by none
I spasm lustfully in Space
I penetrate the Cosmos.
***
cycles.
straight lines stretched and curved and
curved and stretched until
they repeat
time and again
i steal phrases from moon-addled fools
in love
maybe not
time feels cyclic
it repeats in different patterns across spatial-temporal scales
twisting, warping, cutting through fabric
we see ourselves in the faces of someone who lived centuries ago
we have the same memories
same pain that has knitted into our bones
salt in the sea
(i want to go home)
***
Ask a mountain or a peepal tree
They will tell you time is long.
Eons pass like hours of day,
Beards of men grow tall and grey,
The green of moss covers the stone,
Awry feet find roads to walk again.
Ask a worm in a birdling's beak
You will hear a promise break—
The flapping of a butterfly's wings,
And a vow that she keeps on taking.
She'll swear it true and die saying
That the falling apart was worth it.
What of your mistakes, made in youth?
The Clock never dares tick backwards.
Ask a transgressor of humanity
What it takes to mend his wrongs.
Sysiphus will sigh on his behalf
To say–
The whole of forever runs too short.
Leisure may not be destined for all.
Ask ambition to smell some roses,
You will find her betrothed to another.
Ask a cloud to slow down a bit;
You will catch her crying rivers.
Ask the Sun to diminish it's fire
And The Spring may never be seen again.
Ask the mold and rotten wood
Time does catch up to you.
Nights of frivolity, gaiety and passion;
When we claim, "The time is ours"
Is over soon— replaced by wrinkles.
Tears dry on cheeks unwiped
When our time has finally come.