This day is
All there ever was, all there is, all there will ever be
For, all tomorrows will be, all todays are, all yesterdays were,
For a short while this day.
This day, it bears the faces of Janus,
Looking at once both forward and back;
Its neck the now eternally tied,
Between the chafing and cherished ties of earth’s yore,
And the charming and choking dreams of yonder skies.
The wizened think of this day as the day of choice.
The new-winged wake it up with carpe diem!
Midlife wonders if it is the die of chance.
They are all right, for this day always is:
It is the day to burn bridges and build barriers;
It is, too, the day to burn barriers and build bridges.
It is the day to burn what’s built, or (re)build what’s burnt:
It is a destroyer’s day, and a creator’s day.
The spirit of being,
This day also wears the skin of becoming: and it becomes
A memory to the historian, a dream to the architect,
The timeless flow of tenses through the poet’s pen,
And scudding thoughts in the blue-sky mind of a monk.