by Miguel O. Boutureira
Wavy thoughts come and go, some like a river,Some like a storm, most keeping me drenched,
While others barely quench the thirst that I
Suffer most of the time, but it isn’t suffering,
Truth be told, it’s more like a camel in the desert that
Even though he has stored plenty of water
For the days to come, he still dreams of the oasis
With a parched throat that cares not so much
For the water he already has, but the one he wants
To have, as it doesn’t matter how much he drinks
He’s just like a broken vase, there will always be
Plenty of space for more, more water
Or more thoughts, as some come like tears,
And some others like fog, a clouding fog that hides
And confuses, and shelters, and disappears,
And disorients, and clings, and fills, and expands,
And wets, and hurts, and blinds, and eventually goes,
Goes away, we all go away, these thoughts
Will too go away, even if now they feel like less
Of a fog and more of a murky stuck pond,
Yet here comes a whirlpool, there goes a stone,
But how can that be, if my thoughts aren’t made of stone,
Mostly like water they flow, oh, wait, now there’s blood
Dissolving through the water, maybe it wasn’t a stone
But a black ice block, a cumulus of all my thoughts,
That flew through, hitting me in the head and now
Making my blood flow, spilling as fast
As thoughts come and go, maybe it’s possible for me
To just go, dissolve and disappear like a thought,
Without hurting and causing pain as this,
More like a drop of water, silently drying
In the side of the road, just where I am, walking,
Letting my thoughts just flow, explore,
Just like my feet sliding through this sea of leaves,
But whereas they return from under the waters, I don’t,
For sometimes it feels so much
Like my thoughts are drowning me,
A huge wave over my head, this small boat
Trying to sail the everchanging waters of my mind,
This one sometimes just like an ocean, sometimes a drop,
No matter the size, it has plenty of thoughts, thoughts
That some are like a stream, and others like a dew drop,
That sometimes we don’t even know they’re there,
Small and unintrusive, long lost memories
That permeate the landscape of our mind,
Staring at them can make us blind, lost
In the nostalgic dew drop of our past,
But then again, any of our thoughts can
Leave us drenched, parched, disoriented,
Bloodied, blind or lost, because after all
They’re just thoughts that come and go,
Some like a river and some like a storm.