Every day is the same.
Wake up before the sun rises,
but never to enjoy the moonlight
or the stars arranged in constellations
like a child leaves their playthings.
Dress yourself, brace yourself
for the ensuing day,
never realizing that everything you do
comes from a world you’ll never
fully comprehend and may never
truly experience. As days march on,
the same solitude: the hard cabin
of a car, the suffocating walls
of a worn-out building
and back again. Exhausted,
we walk in silence, cutting ourselves off
from our peers who also want the end
of lonely days, the end
of a life confined and void of joy.
Even those who claim to be living
their young lives to the fullest are wrong.
A life of routine, even routine spontaneity
is still routine, still static.
There has to be more.
Maybe in the warmth of the sun
or the richness of soil,
the cool breezes of spring on the horizon
or the sterility of snow?
We’ll go crazy without dynamism,
without unpredictability,
without the sharp pain of reality.
Let’s bask in the sunlight like wildflowers
in the meadows and forest clearings.
Let’s immerse ourselves in the cold
waves and flows of the river.
Walk barefoot on damp earth,
sod clumping between our toes.
Breathe in new air, new life,
and remember to be present.
Going through the motions is not enough.
Let yourself be overtaken by what can’t be controlled
or be ready to fall victim to the day.
