This whole thing feels like a gateway to a deeper topic like lack of time or how time we can measure but nothing else. Certainly a good food for thought with a great thing with music...
Those were the words of @bertrayo about ten days ago, in his comment to my post that I published on the topic of time and our perception of it. Our control, that is, our inability to control it completely. Perhaps an insignificant time distance from that previous one, but it still has some connection with this coming text. So the theme continues here, and perhaps it would be better to say that the previous one would be the continuation of this one because I shot this video back in Spain for this event. Someone wrote poetry for this event. Back in time. But just as we humans are perfectly imperfect, this post comes to light only now. To further spice up the subject.
And to further explain why this post... I made a deal with Bertrayo. Please be kind and click here to find out where it happened :D. I challenged him to write a poem without mentioning the word TIME, and as consequence, I would play music from an anime or a game, as I have never played a similar thing before. Right in the centre, he wrote down his thoughts, both in Spanish and English, so I had nothing else left :). I had to continue the game and do my part.
Off topic, do you know there is one interesting challenge, you can join if you want? You would bring a smile to our faces if you joined ... you can follow up on any of these posts and make this community more diversified with your presence.
Let’s jump back to today’s post. This is a collaboration post with the poet of Hive - @bertrayo, as you already could guess. He wrote a poem that you will read soon, and I am playing an excerpt from the composition Secret of Forest, from the game Chrono Trigger. The composer of this beautiful music is Yasunori Mitsuda, a Japanese composer, musician, and sound producer.
With no further a due, here are Bertrayo's words about time with no time in them:
"La noche me sorprende en medio de nimiedades. Su abrigo es el conejo blanco con prisa. Una pata en el reloj me señala el desvelo. En un salto desaparece. Ahora el horizonte sangra la salida del sol.
La vida no da recesos. Soy solo una de las hormigas que piso. El caminante sigue su paso. No toma pausas por nadie—seas planta, cangrejo o persona. Su esencia es herrumbre inexorable. Desnuda y viste los paisajes; transforma en ruina las ciudades.
Nombre y medida. Ilusiones de control. Cuando nos alcance, quedaremos con un cagrejo que escapa de lluvia: sin esperanzas de convertirnos en fósil."
"The night surprises me on chores dressed as the white rabbit ticking at its watch. It's far past late. It disappears in a hop. Day-break crawls on the horizon.
Life gives no quarter. I'm but a foot-crushed ant. The walker continues its march. Nothing stops it -plant, crab, or people. Its essence is rust, inexorable. It strips nature bare and forces on her clothes; lays cities in ruin.
Names and measures. Control is an illusion. Like a crab escaping a flood, hopes are false. Yet, nothing shall remain."