Dew

Ephemeral blades of grass

Slitting the beads of rain

Like blades

In the night

Morning comes

The residue is left behind

The splashes of last night’s ecstasy of water

Resting on the defeated greenery and webs

Diamante jewels on trees and bushes

The garden is adorned

Step on the grass no longer crisp

And feel your shoe sodden

With the memory of the clouds

All that is left is beauty

That will dry up in a few more hours

Say goodbye to the drops

But don’t worry

They will come again soon

Tomorrow, next week, or next season

The glisten will return

To make the morning glitter

With last night’s litter

now for the sun’s destruction

 

 

 

TIME

Everything is rhythm, word, life

Our life is defined by seconds and minutes

We are slaves to the clock

If we looked away from the time for a second,

Minute,

Hour,

We might find freedom

Or maybe not

Our tyrant time rules us

Tells us when we are

And what must be done within what guidelines

We are grateful to our oppressor

Our Stockholm syndrome love

Of our ticking time bomb

Of our reminder of death

Our morbidity meter

Because our lives would crumble without our dictator

Or would they blossom

Would they liberate

From our master minute

From our sadist second

From our deathly day

Would we find life or death in time and its obliteration

Or would we realise even without the clock

Time still prevails