Thirty

In a rush,
us creatures of compensation
and of money to feed our bones
or to caress our egos;
our time stucks up
when we attentively stare at it.

the wrist watch becomes
fixed; the arrows
stunned in confusion.

We stare at the moment
preventing it to
move further,
stopping any attempt at sprint,
and it would mean
missed "on-times",
or deadlines,
or expectations.

but
it is also during such
halt, in such visceral pause.











that we wish
we did or followed
where personal fulfillment
allows us to
forget time.

Because
this life in between a
lifetime is the perfect
time to rethink.
If only
we grew slower
in obligations
and increase hours
to breathe.