Forget Not: A Reminder for Us All
Photography: “In The Night Garden” by Jonathan Taylor — Find more of his amazing talent at https://unsplash.com/@jontaylor
Every so often, you may find that The humans, in their various manifestations Of desires, vulnerabilities, shortcomings, and even Hopefulness and Beauty --- Are simply far Too Heavy --- You immerse in it, daily, Like wading, knee-high, in an air Filled by Molasses. But every so rarely, you may discover Creature companions of sorts, Whose dimensions only spare them Very plain needs: To eat, to drink, and if ever so lucky, To wander and play, Mindlessly --- Free from Love and Grief, Free, in the absence of time, Nowhere, and Everywhere.
Is it really true---what they say,
“One life ends, Another one begins.”
If so, is it the best one could wish for?
We live in a strange reality, one in which the best lessons are taught with loss and death. We survive the perished, and live our days breathing leftover air.
We go to different places, make new bonds, start and restart new lives---each a second chance, all to one way or another, make up for what we could not rescue in the first place.
"We'll do it Better this time."
It's not so sad as it is bittersweet, like the passing and rebirthing of seasons.
” There is no possibility that any perceptible change will happen within our own life time. We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future.
We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. “
February 27, 2022
In this City – Part I
The City is indeed a peculiar place to be—
it is a eco-chamber that sources its
raw goods from outside its borders,
and in return, never manage to return any
fruition of equal liveliness or consequence;
it is a mischievous juicer
that spits out yellowy-green puss, putrid waste
from the best apples and oranges
innocently fed into it;
it is its own twisted mega-church,
with its organs always blasting
on high volume—
deafening drones of motorized something’s;
heart-wretching screams of lost Souls,
with all of their needless violence and commotions;
it is a rotting garden of surprises:
festering garbage lodged uncomfortably
into crevices better served for other purposes;
dog shit, or those of humans and the alike,
left behind for invisible, miracle cleaning crews;
broken parts of otherwise wholesome constructs,
carpeting the roads’ medians
and their left and right side walks—
When putting all of its saucy elements in view,
it indeed looks quite like
a bewildering, if not entirely mad arrangement
for Man to gravitate to.