second chance

is it easier, for me to tell my tale
of my leg, the left one, severed
nay, chopped suddenly, while I was
still in my deep slumber, under that

effects of anaesthesia to mend my heart
or, to dance with new grace
that bamboo crutch: hollow, stiff and strong
to play my second chance

on that culvert

at the corner of the street

i will sit on that culvert
until you, or your mother, return
on that path, earlier, together we roamed

if my death were to overtake my wait

i pray to passers-by to please leave me
alone, me mummified, now a pillar of salt
to warn other lovers like me so naïve to storms

weather in higher mountains is beautiful

but could be dangerous to way-farers
awe-stuck, but could be stuck in the avalanche
of love from a tiny heart with large potential

comfort of the status quo

my grandson has been crawling
for five months now, an exercise
in which he is quite versatile, and
often moving as a bullet on his knees

making him to prefer that crawling
when he has to quickly grab
the cat’s tail, or run behind his dog
slowing him to try that walking

he thus prefers the present status quo
to changing the mode of his mobility
with potentials for faster movement
and an exploration beyond a pet