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How can the aftermath of the summer be autumn/ Or Kairos

I thought it would be enraged sea by the intrusion of human bodies

Rainbow leaves having had enough of the uniformity of the freeness

Or even dry sand craving for some watery illusion 

I thought it would be the light sinking in,

allowing for the shadow to take over

The coldness prevailing

until the core coming to terms with its nakedness.

I thought it was not about Ikaros merely

changing wings,

but its concept of self. 

I can hear him say through the storm:

“Am I the barefoot child tripping on half a slice of watermelon?

Or Am i the amputated child with wounds and burns and no tears left to cry?”

“Am I the woman after hours of window shopping eventually buying her favourite ring from the shop? 

Or am I the woman aimlessly wandering mourning her multiple losses?”

“Am I the adventurous traveller who have up his accountancy job for finding his truth in  Himalaya?

Or am I the hunger-struck dad who secretly prays for the whole family to die instead of all this suffering?”

“Am I the approacher of the Sun? 

Or am I the hiding shadow in the dark as far from the light as possible?”

“Perhaps I am all”, he finally concludes. 

“Neither and everything at the same time. “

“Also..just to say, you got my name wrong”, he finally says.

“I am not Ikaros 

But Kairos.”

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