Blue Waters

Time,
is like a river
with strong currents,
and I am a rock
between it.

I wonder if
I will find
pieces of myself
eroded away
through these years
scattered unto
streams and lakes
and finally the ocean.

How will I
ever remember if
a part of me
reaches the
blue waters?

How will I know if
my memory
floats unto the surface
splashed by the
passing ships?

And a piece of me
still remains
where it began,
right at the rivers
waiting to be
carried away time and again.

Magic

Waiting for magic,
magic in the eyes,
magic that flies
across skies.

Magic, because
it’s improbable
next to impossible.
Magic, because
it’s implausible
every piece breakable.

More than ever
magic, because it
is not fixable.

Magic that seems
to have travelled
circumference,
but to the center
indifferent.

Magic for
it makes everything
solvable,
believable.

Magic,
for once.