We are shaken like socks
In a washing machine
Started on an early morning
Of July.
I feel you, my love,
Near but thorn,
present but distracted,
But always similar.
Acceptance
The sun hits your back
While standing in the gray yard
Waiting for the cigarette to end.
Thoughts of acceptance
Of an uncontrollable wild reality
Are unavoidable
And their daily rejection
Free space in the mind
And in the day.
Control travel
I contract my muscles
Crunching over control
Of little Excel cells and tiny data points.
The scenario they picture
Is the natural reality
Or the translation of my expectations?
With a joyful papercup of Black tea in my hand
And a backpack of numbers and theories,
I travel through unseen possibilities and questions that hide treasure doors.
Suspending
Suspend your judgement,
Not every day has a lesson at the end.
Learn to hang and just observe the scene,
Remembering only what feeds you.
It gives you a basis
for evolving tomorrow
Into a strong person
With a red book
full of short views
Always there to restart from.
