On life and time

To my older self: read Bukowski. you may not be reading a lot of poetry but read Bukowski.

I was at an event yesterday
typical corporate circus, suits everywhere
most don’t carry a suit well
mismatched tops and bottoms
funny shoes, weird socks,
trousers too short or too long

one thing was common
everyone was trying something
trying to make themself visible
i observed them, trying to make myself invisible

i knew this person, he was trying hard
i knew his past, his ghosts
i knew the baggage he was carrying, it was heavy
i knew his eyes were on the pot of gold, his definition of success
but he was trying hard, even with all the ghosts, baggages
perhaps the pot of gold dragging him forward

then i looked around the room
i didn’t knew most of them but i knew something true about them
they all had ghosts from their past
they all carried some baggage
and only the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow kept them walking
kept them trying hard

trying hard to be someone
someone of value
even if only for those few hours in the event
otherwise when they went home
they knew they had to greet
their ghosts, their baggages
and dream themself to sleep
thinking about the pot of gold