lost my phone
since yesterday
the kept messages from the ones I loved
- gone -
and the ones from the one I love more than I should
- gone -
it's so ordinary it's extraordinary
songs to avoid screams in the neighbourhood
free-fall diver
in pain(t)
(so this is attachment)
"Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water,
sings the pebbles into perfection."
- Rabindranath Tagore
Perfection
- illusion when a phone is lost -
as it is, beyond loss,
is none of our current business
because of kissing the earth
some-one walk(s) on
works
like perfect.
Days later:
found it behind a grey ball.
I had forgot to miss it, the loss, the memories, the attachment.
Like this:
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chameleonian times 