I sail through an ocean
uncharted, unknown, sometimes unwilling,
feeding off miseries, moments and maladies,
going from one second, minute and emotion to another.
A moment seems like a decade
in the company of the dog black.
A relationship seems like a fleeting glimpse
subsidising an impending pain dark.
Memories hover over unremembered nows
while now fills up with woes from then.
A creeping tide sometimes, a flooding river else,
No dikes and dams for this deluge.
No ceiling for this flight
A journey uninvited, moments unlived.
Multiple threads, deep convictions
in an otherwise fallow fate;
What's real, what's not,
the mind's eye watches the debate.
Who willed it, who lives it,
where will this bus take the traveller?
Neither the steward, nor the road,
can ever know from where it comes, where it goes.
Vincent Van Gogh – Sorrowing old man
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