Like a thick tunnel full of empty space,
Or like a never ending cruel race,
The feeling is quite similar to that of guilt,
But as no blood has been spilled,
You fail to see why you feel so ashamed,
But there is no one else for you to blame,
Some may say that this is not a game,
It’s something you know you must fully engage,
It’s like a spontaneous fit of rage.
It’s like death arriving a bit too early,
It’s like life ending a bit too late.
The feeling that of not knowing what tomorrow brings,
Not in terms of the weather, though rain always comes in
Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring.
But when the time comes for you to spread your wings,
Where will you land?
Will it be land, air or sea?
Will I be someone, something or nobody?
Will you be my friend or my enemy?
Must I plan it out like a predetermined journey?
Or Shall I leave it to the Gods to surprise me?
The bird flies, the whale swims, the lion roars,
And what do I do?
I am clearly designed for some useful necessity.
I fear the uncertain.
But the uncertain must also fear me.
For if it didn’t it would have already surprised me,
With a tedious feeling of certainty.
But it hasn’t so it must have given up on that,
As I have already given up prematurely,
On the quest of knowing what tomorrow will bring,
A sunny, cloudy or rainy Spring
A cold summer with windy blows,
Tomorrow – Oh! Nobody knows.
Yet that is why we live so well,
Like a chronological spell.
Like someone who reveals a surprise that they weren’t supposed to tell,
Over-planning tomorrow is like thieving our spirit and invoking hell,
What will tomorrow bring if uncertainty vanishes,
The fact that I will die we already know,
But knowing the exact time of it is not something I’d really like to know!
For Death already knocks on Spontaneity’s door,
And beyond that I need to know no more.
How will I look? What will I do?
Will I be famous or a someone…
I know this about the future.
It’s born and dies on the very same moment,
Time is an instrument for measuring things,
I’ve been measured-judged-assessed all my life,
So I’d like to skip this one. Thanks.
Let’s keep uncertainty in our vital equation,
Like a breath of fresh air,
Like unconstrained, mortal, fascination,
To live like there’s no other moment to spare,
Like now is the only thing that I know,
And I wouldn’t certainly dare
Worrying about tomorrow,
As it will make my ignorance grow,
For people only have one brain,
And of all multi-taskers that I Know,
I know this: that worrying usurps our brain power,
Like no other thing does.
Uncertainty is the very product of my prose,
The end of this poem nobody really knows,
So how about do a magic trick,
And make all following words disappear,
I think I’m going to end it right here.