WITHOUT HASTE
Today, I do not hurry.
Nothing awaits me
that has not already arrived too late.
Time goes its own way.
It does not hasten for me.
It does not slow down.
The tea grows cold.
I do not touch it.
There are things
that fall apart quietly,
and do not ask to be saved.
I do not save the day.
Nor myself.
I sit
as the minute passes
with no intention of staying.
Without haste,
life arrives
only when I no longer wait for it.
Poetry by Maria Deyana
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Written on 2026-05-15 at 18:37
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