A minute can be long, can be prolonged,
it can be an hour, it can be a space,
it can be a race of unmovable stillness,
a stillness required but not desired,
it can be a pace that doesn’t want to leave,
an ache that wants to weep,
a face that doesn’t want to sleep,
a word that gets stuck under words that were unsaid,
a feeling of sorts, climb up one’s porch,
and conquer what’s left one’s attention.
One’s minute is unlike another’s minute, even if they look the same,
even if they were born the same and talk the same.
There are similarities but no identicality,
one reality can’t be another,
one person can’t be of the other,
one spirit can’t be re-created,
when one minute passes, life is spent,
time has died, gone with the wind,
who’s to mourn a minute of life?
who’s to know how to life-dive?
Re-live near, come back dear,
missed your voice and missed the tears,
missed the time you liked my presence,
you liked my poetry,
you knew my essence,
you called me: child
and I called you: pleasant.
Few things left to rekindle the heart,
I’ve done the part and more than I can endure,
I’ve been patient and I’ve been sure,
you have my cure.
My minute has passed and I feel sad,
it was mine till it was past,
it was alive till it was that,
it was here till it went fast,
just like life that flashed and flashed.
My friend, don’t blame my words,
the words don’t create a world,
the words can be long or short,
they can be a refuge and can be a port,
but they don’t revive a minute that has gone and finished.