I often wonder what becomes of us at twilight’s end,
The final flicker of life, where do we truly wend?
A vision grips me, too utopian to believe—
A film reel of my tale, its acts I can't retrieve.
The inevitability of this leading role I play,
Its duality, its twisted sense of night and day.
Life—a stage of shifting scenes and shifting hands,
A puppet, then the puppeteer who gives commands.
The friendships, fleeting flings that softly fade,
Rivalries, relics time has since betrayed.
Those chosen for a day, false prophets rising fast,
Love stories penned, like Shakespeare’s in the past.
This gaping chaos painted on a canvas wide,
With hills turned green by rain’s cabaret ride.
She—the rain—who tints the postcard hues so bold,
Orange flames that burn through tales once told.
She—maligned, feared, cast aside in vain,
Yet without her touch, no seed becomes grain.
—
Pause. Rewind. The frame begins to shake,
What if déjà vu is just the tape that breaks?
A looping reel, repeating endlessly,
This thing I call my reality.
Here’s The Original Version In French
Je m'interroge souvent : que devient-on au crépuscule de notre existence ?
L'image qui me prend… Bien utopique d'y voir la pellicule de mon histoire, ses différents mouvements.
La fatalité de ce personnage principal,
Sa dualité, sa notion unique du bien, du mal.
La pièce de théâtre qu'est la vie : tour à tour pantin, marionnettiste.
Les amitiés, les amourettes,
Les rivalités, les désuets,
Les élus d'un jour, les faux prophètes de demain,
Les romans d'amour, les essais shakespeariens.
Tout ce petit bordel béant sur un fond de portrait,
Collines rendues verdoyantes par la pluie et son cabaret.
Celle qui dépeint la carte postale aux couleurs orange-lave,
Celle même qu'on médit, qu'on craint,
Celle dont on oublie que, sans elle, ne pousse le grain.
Arrêt. Retour sur image. Bande enrayée.
Et si ces sensations de déjà-vu n'étaient
Que cette cassette qui repasse en boucle
Ce que je qualifie de réalité ?
And you — what do you see playing out on the reel of your own existence?
A film on loop or a work in progress?
Feel free to share your thoughts! 💬🕊️
Peace & Bliss,
Aaron.
A beautiful poem of a life lived... Mine was a film on loop until I hit that Pause button and put it on Play when I rediscovered life to be a work in progress ❤️ 🌬🦋
Such an interesting choice in the world we live in now! This is how we tend to live our lives unless we give in...🙏❤️🩹