October Profile
Time has been drawing lines on my face,
slowly caressing it, like a careless painter
with fine strokes
continuously, almost tenderly
Time has been carving lines on my face
like a sculptor with a sharp knife, like a child playing with clay,
with muddy hands
shaping birds, teacups and toys
only to destroy them and start again.
Time has been writing prose on my face
Like a writer choosing words with precious attention
turning pages
It knows no rhymes
It knows no anger
It knows
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