I stay awake and the night stays up with me. What time is it? It's 2.30 AM of that Monday morning you dread so much. In my calender, the days are smashed into each other. Time is a lump of indefinite shape and I have no place for it in my already messed up room.

Every guy who wears glasses is not a nerd. Some are truly myopic. They can't see far enough. Tomorrows are blurred reality.. almost a fantasy. The days gone by have been stashed in some ashtray or put off by the heels of worn out shoes.

I have this night and the road to myself. I have a world in my head and I am the king who walks on these dark streets.. one slow step at a time in the direction of nothingness.

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Those who haven't figured it out yet, never will. They will go on with their lives. Hours will stretch into years and life will dissolve. Because there are no beginnings, but the beginning of an end. At times, we will reflect back with wisdom gained by loosing so much. We will write a song, a poem or a long letter and eat our words with evening tea.

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Some people don't need a dream or an accomplishment. They don't have a point to prove and they don't dwell on the illusion of a miracle. All they need is an escape- A little tunnel to help them travel through time; untouched, uncomplicated.

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Sandstorm
(1/3)
I, no longer, have thoughts
Imagination or beliefs,
Dreams or regrets.

Only the pieces,
Like strands of glass.
Swirling in my head.

I let them fly,
Like a sand storm,
And wait,
For it to pass.

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People who can’t breathe through masks are the same people who can’t see through helmets. 🙃

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“We took such care of tomorrow but died on the way there.”
— Warsan Shire

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A poem for you,
Your eyes shut in prayers,
Your folded hands.
A poem that tells you,
That prayers only work
When we pray for others.

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A poem for the son,
Who became a doctor,
Because daddy wanted him to.
Who was never enough,
Always huffing to win a race
That he never understood.
I will read a poem,
He is all we have now,
All that matters today.

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A poem for the man,
Who knows nothing
But to turn up at work.
Who lost himself between red-blue files,
And appraisal meetings,
Slowly, without ever knowing.
I will read a poem,
That brings back a time
When he was more than
His business card.

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A poem for the children,
Whose childhood got suspended,
And friends taken hostage.
I will read a poem,
That finds playmates in mommies,
Pranksters in daddies,
And learning in stillness.

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