Timekeeper

When I wake up I often curse the sun — sometimes my dreams

I've defied whats abstract because seeing is believing

I believe in the sun the moon earth and the rain that accompanies my sadness

the dirty streets the heat and the depression that evaporates from strange bodies

but not the ticking bomb strapped to my wrist or plastered on walls

protruding from telephone screens or ringing on bedside tables

11:46 am is a lie —  a false god I'm forced to fear not worshiped

The embryo sunshine continues to melt behind me its warmth spreads like wildfire

and oblivious to us, the earth keeps rotating

Endlessly rotating like the hands of the clock which mother set fifteen minutes early

so that when we think we're running out of time, we actually still have plenty.

Grandfather died two weeks ago because he's already too old

my hair and my nails grow longer it'd be best if I cut the latter

I painted them black hours ago, maybe later

Ginsberg's and my friend's death anniversaries are coming too

last year they passed by me like smokes — too fast barely invisible a memory I can't grasp

wonder what they're doing up above with the angels have they seen God?

Death surrounds me in a way I've never imagined it encircles me but never touches me

It feeds on the things and people that I love — occasionally strangers on the highways below

Like the earth that keeps rotating

it never stops doing its job.

It' all because of time —

it's about time grandfather died

it's about time I cut my nails off and let my hair grow past my shoulders

it's about time their death anniversaries come it's almost the end of March

and it's about time I get over their deaths I should move on like the rest.

Forgetting is easy, letting go isn't.

They were wrong I was wrong too time doesn't heal

what you can't yet heal time only provides the illusion that it does

We worship it like god hoping tomorrow or next year things will be better

if my mum could tamper with the clock then time is no god

We heal ourselves time only watches over

if it heals I'd probably already be a better person

if it heals these scars on my arm should've disappear

if it heals I would've stopped writing.

Or maybe time actually does heal —

I was once in the gutters now I'm on the sidewalks looking up to the starry skies

learning to walk again, learning to do everything like it's my first time

not because I'm burdened by 23

not because I'm all alone

not because the train is coming

not because everyone else is successful and I need to keep up

but maybe because it's about time I give myself a chance to let go

of all the pain and sufferings that I have caused upon myself

Used to follow the wrong constellations — lost and unheard

While everyone searched for jobs I searched for myself but I found love instead

now he's my nine to five I'm a full-time lover

29 november — wrong place, right time.

As time passes by I come to realize

I might have already been a better version of myself

the ugly scars on my arm had dissolved into my skin they've faded

but I still write — I write to heal what time fail to heal

Words are my prescriptions I'm sick of them even when I'm not sick

but healing's a long process and I've made stops along the way

I still don't want my journey to be marked simply by time

my growth is worth more than the pages of the calendars or the numbers on the clock

not the sun either I don't fancy her but I will always love the moon

and like her phases too  —  I'll change when I have to

But every passing moment, every person, every single thing that I have encountered along my journey

every mistake, every regret and every other possible emotion that a human could've felt —

like asteroids they've stricken me, left dents and craters all around me

invisible to the rest, yet they've molded the present me.

And as the day approaches its end the sun switches position it rose from the back of my neck but it sets on my face

painting my dark brown eyes hazel as the horizon bleeds warm tangerine

not because it's 7.32 pm

not because the lights have turned on

not because my lover's about to have his lunch

not because the stray cats have left

but because I choose to keep going

and like the earth that keeps rotating —

I hope I won't stop.

- amira