A CARVED WOODEN CHAIR – Poetry, by Chilechuan

A CARVED WOODEN CHAIR

Not a trace of sky, earth, or ax. They have no effect on it anymore. All the faults were smoothed out and polished, now it looks like a timeless flower. Someone separated it from many other wooden chairs. It sits alone, like the quietest heart that yields to fate too often: lonely, powerless, being sanded down again and again. An antique, with countless old cuts, it’s no longer a chair. Only time comes to rest on it, and no one else dares do the same.

(Chilechuan)