Poetry

Boomerang

I can freely describe myself as a weapon
that people often play with,
not realizing that they are losing
even before the game started.
I often refer to the one that others throw,
but I keep coming back
and stand in front of them or behind.
It depends if they show me the right face
or they turn their backs on me.

Karma is a boomerang;
those people are talking.
They are like rising dominoes,
pushing each other
until the last one falls.
And the boomerang is thrown and spun,
always turning and taking the last steps.

However, that’s what people do.
They throw away things so effortlessly
as if they were never part of them.
And again, they don’t realize that they can come back.
From time to time, in some different forms.
I come back in the form of a boomerang,
I come back in the warning form,
evoking a variety of reactions
to their previous actions.

I can freely describe myself as karma,
boomerang in the head.
A thought that been rid of,
a thought that lurks and comes back,
but never by its own will.
I don’t have that ability unless I’m thrown.

Leave a Reply

Inline
Inline