This is a wonder whirling in my skull
like an echo, a susurration, I can hear and rehear:
when “over there”
dissolves in where I stand,
in “here”,
why Like a man walking on treadmill
would distances never go anywhere
or completely disappear?
Seems like we are never going forward,
or “there,”
has never come to us
or gotten any nearer.
For everywhere we go
we drag the “here” with us there.
and the “there” again
like a volatile liquid disappears,
or like the same pole in two magnets
we always keep the same interval
with no tear and wear.
Since no matter how further I go
fast or slow or on my toes
it seems I am going nowhere
and “there”, always remains further than me,
standing not in definite,
but on some continuous "here,”
like a scuttling flow.
Like “here” is never a point,
it is a succedent line stretching out of a period
to everywhere.
And no matter how many times
“there” turns to where I stand
"here" is dragged
and again, and again
it would reappear.
“Here,” is “me” than,
like “now” on a rocking chair
and as long as “I” sways my consciousness
as a flagman,
it is always there.
No matter how many times
I brim this glass,
the wine still seeps away
and like in the water cycle
it turns pellucid, and rains again clear,
or how I compose these empty spaces
in colours of my ardency of feelings, and graces,
and design them with swank,
like the castles we built with the sand,
by an outreaching wave
they would turn again blank.
We would never undergo or indefinitely pass
no matter how slow or fast
gushing through the throat of this hourglass,
to upon the vertigo of a rotating carrousel
reaching an impasse,
filling up the assumed blankness.
The assumption of a pursuit,
with no decrease
in our self-observing relativistic mass.
_walking agelessly on and on
with no going forward or
regress. _
It seems like dimensions are the marionettes
of the three musketeers
and our presence
like a light on a candle,
is the ever only puppeteer.
Wherever we go
in the cage of now and here.
we would never grow
out of me and you;
we never forward in this continuous queue.
We could only flee
these bars of space and roads
in omnipresence,
flying through.
No matter how we walk
me and you,
we’re a pair
of separate shoes,
walking here and there,
drawing scatter lines
that only together
are coherent in our views.
