Ode to a Forthcoming Spring

Always feeling at the rhythm of life,
running away in anger,
looking back at the speed of a heart-
We breathe in and out our own pulses and impulses
in a flawless flow
Grabbing the wasted chances by their sharp edges
some of them poisoned, others too hard to recognize;
Getting ourselves drunk
on the melted illusions of promised arrivals,
knowing too well they are as fake as a free lunch;
Filling the voids inside with regrets the size of the Andes
Trying to rebuild our own pedestals
Without kneeling down
Burning down ancient altars and ceasing to worship their fallen gods
-those leaving our temple too soon and too early-
Without revealing the meaning of broken prayers and overheard vows,
the lullaby words we forgot and had to secretly improvise
Patching up their mourning silence with patronizing “good-byes”
Why are all signs stating only which roads can’t be taken?
Why is everything a matter of denial these days?
“Haven’t you noticed?”
The hustle and bustle of seasons
Crashes over the crushes we leave behind.
Flashing a synchronized smile in the only mirror before our eyes,
We dissolve our roots to make shining dew sparkle
under the feet of angels and ghosts
And then nest their thirsty wanderings close to their pride;
In the end
we should be mostly afraid of complete healings-
Without a scar map
we’d get lost and delirious for a brand new while.