Throughout this journey of pleasure and pain,
Of terror and heaven,
Our existence hangs by a hair of patience
From which we can finally see … a purpose.
… the light at the very beginning of the tunnel.
Those years have put a stamp to our hearts
Both with good and bad,
Sour and sweet,
Lifts and stones,
Recession and progress
… and to all our romantic failures.
We are building our years
And yet the years are building us …
How can you desire something
That you are afraid of?
How can you wish to reach someone
When you can`t catch an eye glance?
How can you calm the mind
When it can`t sleep at night?
How can you write a letter
When you know not to whom?
How can you sleep on time
When you claim is not enough?
Time has put this letter on my very wall,
In front of my eyes
And even gave it color.
HE is trying to speak to it each and every day,
Sending a message to the unknown and yet so well known …
Hoping to gather the leaves from this tree
In the midst of autumn.
He often speaks aloud
And the voice becomes stronger and stronger.
In time, those vibes are reaching the target
With an explosive emotional power.
The vibes …
Are moving the earth,
Are warming the winters,
Are cooling the summers,
Are stopping the rains.
But is it wise to initiate change
With no sense of responsibility for its consequences?
Is it wise to sleep on your years
As well as claim justice?
Is it wise to be frightened of your existence?
Now time is reflecting some kind of loss
On your clock.
But the clock is blurry …
And you miss being on the watch.
This is your existence …
These are your years …
… of upheaval.
(©Ana-Lucretia Nedelcu/LiterAnART 2014)