Looming on your horizon


Time does not matter to me.

Time is inconstant.

Time changes.

I don’t.


I am a rock that erodes the waves of time,

reducing them to spray.

Impotent minutes and ineffectual seconds.


They come to me, in different guises,

stare at me, marvel at me, and depart,

changed by me.


Some curse me,

for I prevent their movement,


becoming a barrier

to their feeble attempts at progress.


They tried.

They cut into me, hacked me down,

Well, they tried. I’ll concede that.


My walls stood impregnable.

I stood silent against their onslaught.


The surge of mortality, I overwhelmed.


Every boulder I call my own, waiting for my command,


from a latent threat to a dynamic attack.


Why don’t they really look?


Well, I am not taking any decisions.

Decisions are not mine to be taken.

I am waiting for a higher power to intervene.


I am content to hold my fire,

even if waiting is all what I do,

till I crumble in the distant future.


Yes, I am aware of my own mortality.


This is transience, I am aware.


I am still, you see, and I absorb everything.


But the thought that I don’t have to take things in my hand

fills me with peace.


I know my space.

I know my limits

and I know my ephemerality.


And that is my strength.


I do not extend my boundaries more than I have to.


Why don’t they really look?


Do I need to?

Well, I have never felt that way.

I see it all in their eyes.

Why don’t they really look?


As if I were a remnant of the past, an object to be revered.

I look at the unchanging sky and the changing landscape and wonder at their adulation.

Why don’t they really look?


As if I were a victim to be mutilated beyond recognition, my wealth plundered and carried away in haste.

My granite walls eye them and close shut.

Why don’t they really look?


As if I were this impossible summit against which every hard contour and soft cavity of theirs is measured and fails.

My eyes remain shut.

Why don’t they really look?


As if I were susceptible to effective logs of dynamite intended to blow me up.


Why don’t they really look?


As if I were preventing the landscape from improving itself…

Well, I am blotting out their sunlight and hiding their favourite view…

Why don’t they really look?


Well, they are all welcome.


All I know is, I am in control of myself.

Why don’t they really look?


I never profess to be in control of anything else, or anybody else.

Like I said, it isn’t my business.


The clouds wafting above nestle in my arms, curl up against me and deeply rested, move away.

I do not attempt to hold on to them.

Freedom is absolutely important. 

Mine and theirs.


I am here today.

I may not be, tomorrow.

When I am, I completely am.

When I go, you won’t even find a pebble, a trace.


I like being here, so I still stand.


If it were not so, I’d allow the wind to blow every bit of me away

particle by particle.


I’d  allow the rains to lash at me, washing away myself

grain by grain.


I would shift.



Tremors cleaving my rocks,

scattering them over the landscape,

obliterating it,

forming a new landscape.


Meanwhile, I know there is a reason why I am here.

I don’t know what.

I am not even going to pretend I know why.


All I know is that I am still here.

And that is enough for me.


Why don’t they really look?




8 thoughts on “Looming on your horizon

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