Hora Aurea

I used to love birthdays,

when the water reflected the sky

like a sharp cut glass.


I still do.

I’d like to think

that the glass turned 

into pieces of crystal.

Not as smooth

but crowned

by the remains of history.



all blurs into one.

Where is the meaning?

The water shows neither the reflection

of the birds nor mine.

Glasses and crystal,

coals and diamonds,

one big question of

what now?


What is the point of 

the flutter of heart for another year

if life is one deep dark ocean

claiming nothing but sunken ships?


I hope it’s the sun,

gently touching the surface of the water

and bursting into all the colours

the earth and above has to offer.



(Image Credits: https://unsplash.com/photos/i14h2xyPr18 by Yoann Boyer)

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