you with blatant disregard for certainty
have made me a sure slave of eternity
despite my constant and unsuccessful
revolts against your shepherding, control
you make me walk in your garden
with chaotic colours in which my eyes
see disorder with patches of randomly planted
vegetables and herbs unsuitable to my taste buds
you expect me to see life, life of victory
in demolitions, destructions and in exilic slavery
where opportunities one by one evaporates
like the quickly melting winter snow
but did i hear you whispering, in my ears, thanks
when i cursed you and confirmed yours as messy mess
with much disregard to your making meaning
in your own terms, your space and moment
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