Awakening, I have no awareness
whether its morning, day or night.
I had fallen asleep on the sofa
late at evening, the world to save
or at least shouting as it drowns,
could have slept fe hours or a day,
and behind the closed curtains
could be darkness or a dim day,
no sunshine, certainly. Disoriented,
adrift in time, floating a chrononaut.
And if time doesn't exist, if these
days are illusion or cast in amber,
mind flowing where there is no
movement except consciousness,
what point is there to drop the anchor
checking time? Finally, sitting before
my laptop that chains me to
world burning, drowning, bleeding,
a coffee mug beside me, an empty
page before me, I check the clock:
Just past eight in the morning
on my father's birthday. He would
be 78 today. The snow on his grave
will have all melted away, like
our years melt away. One day
there will be nothing but silence.
17.12.2025
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