They wouldn't believe it, I dare say
Love, like gravity, bends time and space,
Slowing down relaxation to lifelessness
As eternity diffuses into relative alternates;
Only for lab-based mortals to realize,
Love is but only one part of a dipole,
Where the other end, equally present
Produces a sound repelling force,
And us, mere humans, oscillate
Unaware of either the source, or the end.
As the Vistula wraps herself on her banks
When the water feels a bit much to handle,
I turn to my words; for a touch of compassion.
Surface waves, signatures of unstable realities
Appear from, and merge into oblivion
As newer raindrops mimic hope, excitation.
My search for meaning braids my way
Back onto itself, swinging freely in space
But knotted strictly through time.
Who am I in this grand flow of worldlines?
A diffuser? Or a dancing cosmic string -
With its ends absorbed in a strange dynamics?
As I prepare to sleep in Luxembourg tonight,
Krakow puts a blanket of fog over herself
As if to re-iterate that I took my flight
Last night, when the time seemed right.
Hence, let's move on from the banks
There's a flood-warning,
Though Krakow's (supposedly) globally safe.
The recent pattern breaks
And the deeper form re-exerts itself.
There's a silence in here
And I hear it.
It's the silence of my soul;
Looking back at me
With empty eyes
And a deep contempt.
The silence comes from the backyard
Where the broken cliff yet stands tall
I breathe, and I listen
To the many sounds of the night.
Maybe it's indeed the 'white noise',
The one that appears in literature
And feeds many like me;
Or maybe it's something else
And I'm left to wonder
How silence is a superposition
Of myriad random events
Passing by, with a hint of existence.
