Impermanence
The snowflakes fell, like thousands of magical beings with wings. And as they piled high, I imagined these beings penned, like the old man Gabriel Garcia Marquez forever penned into my head, alone and betrayed, trampled by chickens and pissed on by men until the absolute white of their wings became grey with the dust and the grime of the wind and this world.
I knew then, that on various days, in various hours, and in various ways, the beauties of this life would take to the air, one by one, and fly from this world.
Haha ... How did you bring Gabriel García Márquez here ... to the snowdrifts ... while this old man always reminds me of the cramped room, no fan, filled with cigarette smoke, and the smell of sweat ... haha.. It's wonderful, @boxcarblue! 👍 And your words here, in my opinion, are like one sentence that was not separated by a coma and a point, and like a hard fist that strikes down fake things. Thank you.
Do you know his short story, A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings? That's how he got caught up in the snow drifts.
Thanks very much. I just heard about this short story from you, and I just read the summary. But still something brilliant when you can remember this old man (I mean: Márquez) when you see snowflakes.
On the contrary, I know a little about Colombia through some of this great man's writing, so when this old man tells stories, I can feel the weather on the equator there. So I can not remember him in snowy weather. Even after I read the summary of A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings, it also says that "The story begins after three days of rain, which make crabs come out everywhere." There is no snowflakes.
So when you can still remember Márquez in snow weather, it will be real how much you like him, and that is something great.👍 🙂
It's the image of the winged man that came to me, and the play with words. A man being penned up, or put in a pen, and another man writing a character into my memory, or penning him there. Somehow the scenery on that day seemed to parallel the winged man in that story.
Very good poerty @boxcarblue. . I like your post 👏👏👏
Thank you @nazarwills.
Confused in last stanza....the taken beauty from life to air is presented as gud or bad sense?
It's presented as neither, just a reality that is.
Very touching lines my friend, beauties of this life would take to the air..... Fly from the world. It's reality, nothing is perfect and permanent. Thanks for sharing such a valuable message. Have an wonderful time friend happy steeming.
As always, thanks for your comment.
What sad words... That picture complements the words beautifully...
Yeah, the picture was a lucky find.
Indeed. It reminds me of the other day @ocrdu showed a photo of a butterfly as he often does, yet this one was worn and a bit tattered, even somewhat off colored...and he said even butterflies get old...proving yet again as you say, Impermanence. Well done.
I'll have to check out his posts. I've seen old butterflies before in a butterfly atrium. It was, indeed, a little strange.
I have divided your poetry, I am very impressed with the poetry there @boxcarblue. .. yes i am not a poet but I can mersakan expressions in the line that you write "day by day, time change of beauty and life will fly at the time of being formed, nature will run on God's will ..
Mersakan? What's that? Is that a language, or a region? I'll have to look that up.
It's ALIVE! :) And it seems to be positive. Thanks!