Skin and bone dolls
Flesh formed
Lie cold blue veined
Still life form.
We are alive is a wonder
When all life is
Acceleration towards endings
Each beginning is a fast track
Culminating in arrival.
Well, I wonder
How joy must be produced
Squeezed out forcefully
From the reluctant teats of life.
Which seems a purpose
Utterly futile,
If all we do,
Is move through time.
But my gaze hazes
Over the distance
I see little dolls scampering,
Scurrying about,
Anxious precious urgency.
Boredom is an art form,
Real life is not,
A movement through time
At all.
It's a movement through
Acts.
Each infinitesimal moment
Holding potential,
To do.
Doing is the passage
And passport
Actions adding up
To rich accumulation.
The numbers are endless
Without moderation
If we give it up,
Slow clap Time!
Like rich illusion,
And only perceive
Our movement
Through actions.
Joys rich enough
To squander
Time to be bought
And brought asunder.
There are no end times
For a life of action.
Even death shall become
A progression.
© Amrita Valan 2017
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