Painting a Portrait

The two-dimensioned dilemma switched sides
To impersonate historical ageless Time where
At one end the black-and-white canvas would
Rotate into a pictorial film and scream aloud
Ancient symbolic letters for peace and justice.

Certainly, this era’s dogma about our truly old
Unpainted portraits revolved around ignoring
The essence of life dismissing the colossal law
Of the starry constellations among our shining
Sun, our glowing Moon, and our celestial souls.

Then the plot thickens after an innocent kid
Picks up brushes and a colour-filled palette
To openly colour its own portrait accidentally
Triggering the reversal movements of Time
As anti-clockwise severely destroys all dreams.

Albeit, the kid grows and learns to unlock
That treasure box and remove the partially
Painted canvas to tear it apart in hope that
One day Time will listen to this kid’s sorrows
Switching back to a one-dimensioned film.

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Into the Cave

Let me march alone into this cave,
Hold not, see not, remember not,
Time has ticked anticlockwise,
Reversed into my own abyss,
To me, this world is unnatural,
No longer fit for celestial creatures,
And so, let me into that door;
That darkness! – it will now
Hold me, see me, remember me,
This cave is a mirror – mine – within,
For I have dismissed the reproaching
Universe and all its constellations,
This thing I now call the new birth,
Your thing I now call the old ritual,
So hold not, see not, remember not,
And let me march alone into this cave.