This is the end.
But the end started at the creation
of the first deoxyribonucleic acid,
of the first cellular life,
of the first material’s
This is the end.
The end was here from the beginning
at the enactment of beginning,
at the start of all existence,
at the emptiness
in the void.
This is the end.
The end of my deoxyribonucleic acids
of formed cellular creation,
of temporary learning,
The weather is funny today
As it has been yesterday,
Thunderclaps and silences.
From the snow, flowers rising,
From clouds, sun shining,
The weather is funny;
Whether it’s resin or honey,
Honestly, I’m fond of its nature.
I’m really weatherbeaten, tho
After all I went through,
It’s still funny.
I’ve got a life sentence for every moment of happiness
because a thousand lives are lived by the one who thinks,
and has no living, only in his thinking of
dim fantasies and happenings of
what we had and now we don’t.
I had paid with terror for every evening tale of happiness
in the comatose moments of an easeless clock
that turnes the scenes in glance of shock
from dull peace and meekness
into whirling nightmares.
I paid dear for gazing at every unmerited gems of happiness
that were clearly not meant for such filthy hands,
holding torture in past and hast in the future
for once, ending that doubtful esurience
for all the good that I was bad for.
I’m paying an ocean for every single drop of happiness
that buries me with a million tons of darkness,
hits me with a thousand Newtons of waves,
and suffocates me without measure
for only the thoughts I had, have.
I’ll be paying a never-enough price for the least of happiness
because I’m destined for the opposite of good,
and I am still kicking away the bad mood
that always had cradled, peddled
and will have settled me.
This step on the dust of the pavement,
stepped slowly and with passion,
reflects the magic of body
and this worldly physics:
What a dynamics!
That horn tooting in the wrooming,
human feelings in mechanics,
resonates the air with waves
of microscopic tsunamis:
What a composition!
In this garbage, that apple stump,
nature and city grabbed as one,
radiates an endless ending
of turning and returning:
The cycle of life!
This worth of that leaving moment,
been here, but now it’s Faraway,
creates newly lost happiness
of “it was” and ‘no worries’:
Seizing every very moment as it is,
like the guy with no memories,
brings ecstasy to learning –
relearning thing to thing:
Life is a locomotive:
Only passenger you are.
Aren’t you pulled through all the bad?
Haven’t you left behind all what’s said?
You want to get through London without rain?
If you are to learn from life, you have to train.
Life isn’t a local motive:
Human, not a tree you are.
It’s motion, adopt and act; you are apt.
Turn a page and take the stage, opt or adapt.
Lift yourself up; you are not tied but in your brain.
Do you think one is coming to pull you up with a crane?
Life is a LOCO motive:
If you are sane, insane you are.
Who told you that life is to understand?
Act the fool, the king and the queen; it’s your land.
The whole global globe is in your hands to use at ease.
After your time is over, you’ll have no excuse, nor reprise.
Like the green leaves on a winter-near tree,
We are – meant to be free.
Although, what we go through cannot be seen,
The tree frees us, despite being keen.
Just give me a new season, a month, another day,
These are our wishes: just a little May.
Maybe, there’s another May, named not the same,
Another tree with yearly reclaim.
But, even the pins seeming living and ever-green
Have their winter, their Augustine.
Living no lie, the tree frees us when it leaves us drawn,
Unwanted to see yellowish and brown.
Even the moments freeze when the winter is here,
With our look, we start to disappear.
Then, we’ll be freed from that beautiful tree’s lean,
By a falling leaf’s last scene nobody’s seen.
Then, what will say: that was us, that was our tree?
What will immortalize me?
The fallen leaves around me, on and under the ground?
Are my words freed too, or will be refound?
To be or not to be – a bee,
day to day just working in a whirlwind
and waiting while getting more weight in;
Is the honey so funny?
Let’s exorcise: no more exercise!
Let’s pull the brake before we break
and declare a pause as if having paws;
Bearing a bear’s power.
It’s the first piece of peace,
to sit up – from the board of boredom
letting your throne and crown be thrown;
Away from the old bad ways.
Don’t stare at the stairs!
Flee step by step in flea-bounces
or rather just fly as a finally freed fly;
No ads will pop up with an extra life.
I know the life is a strife,
like a battle with bottles, not swords,
and like trying to heal the heel of Achilles;
Thou, you still must sort your own sorts.
A bear on a bare desert?
To be in a hive barely alive?
Which knight lives with night-witches?
Switch the channel if it’s full of glitches.
So, to be or not to be a bee?
I say it’s up to you until you feel up,
but if you haven’t fled if you’re fed up;
Don’t try to cut the ties when the tides are coming.