written while flying away...

Dimensions


What remains is a picture,
Watered down two-dimensional imprints
Of an event in four dimensions. As if a memory
Can never resemble the present.
A camera’s shutter speed can be adjusted,
The longer the diaphragm is opened
The deeper the imprint, the blurrier
The captured image (unless it all remains perfectly still)
Time’s effect on a picture – a ruined present –
And the loss of true dimension will eventually
Numb down all emotion. The picture will be
Looked at, the event reminisced,
Soon the photo is stored away,
Rarely looked at again, and all that remains
Is the two-dimensional flatness
Which is all that is left.





Homesick


Homeless again. The search for food can recommence.
It’s cold outside. I don’t remember any rain
While I had a home. My bed a cardboard
Box (for one) tonight instead of the secured lock
Of the double bed (I had gotten used to).

When I had a home, I shared it all – now
I’m back selfish to survive. The landlord
Was kind to me, took me with him, washed me,
Showed me how to shave my rough beard. He
Cared about my grief and resorted to showing me his.

When you come from the streets, you need to get
Used to everything. Survival is no longer about
Food but about warmth. Similar in both
Is a great sense of hunger, an insatiable longing for more –
You do not get used to having found this kind of shelter.

The landlord was gone, maybe he died or just got lost;
I could have waited for him to return but I was thrown out.
I took a shower before I left: he’d want me to look my best.
Cleansed I closed off and had to go –
The house’s love had captured me.


/timpeltje