Chaorder

I opt for order
But love and beauty bring chaos.
So this vague, dizzy state of mind
Can be called chaorder —
Because I expect order and get chaos.

It’s like a shower of burning sticks
That are thrown onto the transparent windows
Of my house

Or a raging mob by the door.

It’s like a deluge of colours and sounds
After long months spent
In a bunker
Where you train for years
To stop your heartbeat
And lock your thoughts.

Each time love leads you to
chaorder —
Do your best to freeze it.

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