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By chance
If today by chance, I was given the chance to start over again, to revisit the footsteps I have walked, what folly would it be to say no? I would gladly stand up and make a list, of what I have done and what not, then I would leave, without even daring to look back, lest I get to find out that it all was a dream, and I still belong to the grave. If today by chance, karma revisited and told me, that my sins are forgiven, and that my fate has been reset, I would gladly cease to be human, and turn into an animal. I would bray in the wilderness, with beasts that own the sand. I would care less for a house, for I would dwell right in the bush and in the sand, with muskrats and the jojobas. I would go up the mountains, and pluck the hermits from their lives of loneliness and show them how to truly be alive. I would tone down on my crying and spend life laughing at anything and everything. I would climb up tall trees and ravage of their large fruits. I would feast on the hard, white flesh of the coconuts and relish myself with the most yellow of drink from succulent mangoes I would stir the bee’s nest and let them sting me puffy. I would jump into the giant pools, clothed in nothing but a smile, knowing that the sun in full glory is on my side. If today by chance, I was given the chance to start over again, I would choose to be mad, just so I could dream and see in colour. I am tired; yes I am, of grey and bland. It hurts my eyes to see gloom all over, so if today by chance, I am allowed to start over again, I would dress and smile my best for deep down I know that I have never lived enough, and like sand, life has had to sift from between my fingers. I have watched life fleet by, like a river that knows not to turn back. I have wasted my time, on things like love and heartbreaks, finding and letting go, and I have dwelled in triviality, but life has waited not for me to jolt out of my nightmares. I have tried to tell of my problems, but life denied me audience. Alas, have I to wait till the day comes, when the soil shall clamour for my body, and the mites shall brawl over my flesh? Should I wait till my skin shrivels like nylon fabric next to a flame? Have I to wait till every single bone in me creaks in tired petulance?

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