Later afternoons

Mornings are late

well, usually very late

so are the evenings

as if shy of coming out

they wallow about in doubt

but the afternoons

that’s what makes life

what it is

stretching endlessly

in a languid laziness

knotted in puzzles

mazes and absolute no-turnarounds

that’s when tea upon tea

makes the effort to keep the mind in working condition

books piled on either side

send reminders of unfulfilled whatevers

then there is this wait

for that reply from nowhere

for that response to a call that never went

for that opportunity that is building its gate

for that company that is relishing the moment

for great photo-opps, happy faces, great food and laughter

for the reward after work, the hard afternoon work

when keeping eyes open is itself a challenge

forget not losing oneself in the process

but how much can a lost soul lose after all

sometimes the way itself forgets where it is going

then what of the wayfarer, poor thing!

such they say is living

yet the end is the only clarity one can have

come as it will, it will when it will. Peace!

 

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One thought on “Later afternoons

  1. A lot here to ponder. I’m focusing right now on the mysterious line “sometimes the way itself forgets where it is going.” You have an unusual way of saying things. But then that’s what poetry is, I think.

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