Content

I know that there is this world, other than myself
where I am just emulating a million others.
But there are differences that I can feel
in the seeming similitude.

In the early morning silence where past
wakes up and chats with me over coffee
there is a specialty I can feel.
One can call it a pedestrian illusion.

Over the years I have translated
the cryptic messages on the milestones
into success, failure and their variants.
Now I have invented ignorance of these milestones.
Still I go along, not as a timed arson
but enjoying the timelessness of things.

I know it is an illusion and all those theories.
(I know the word "ephemeral" too)
But somewhere I should start showing peace
I should cease to contend and be content.