Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Clap hands

Clap hands, be glad, cars honk on the avenues and the river of time, goes on unstoppable. I feel unbreakable, I feel redeemed, washed in a new light, as flowers bloom everywhere I look.
This is a crisis of global proportions, but then again, it’s only the same ones that are hiding and we don’t see them as we don’t reach out for them and the ones we got to see are the same ones, we see all the time in TV news and they come from Africa or Asia or those places where everybody knows the climate is not fit for you.
It doesn’t rain for a long time, but we can water the gardens and we can walk our dogs, everything is so right, just some bankers had to be replaced but music festivals did happen in time and beach migration had reasonable size, hey don’t you worry baby, says the singer or the song, nevermind, this is a crisis of global proportitions but we are going through it as if we were rowing a boat, in a lake, on a garden. I love your garden, did I already tell you that, really love your garden.


  1. You're getting at something here. Been thinking along the same lines, but not so poetically.