If I could talk to the Minutes

If I could meet the Minutes in person,
I would slap it in the face
with the rage
of a child whose candy was stolen.

I would complain
that it did everything wrong,
that the joyful times passed so quickly
I barely caught a wisp of its sweetness,
and the agonizing times so slowly
I had to hold its bitter taste in my mouth.

Then I would give it a hug,
because it heals my wounded heart
when trampled by the world
and beaten to a pulp,
it dries my tears
when I cry
for the cruelty of life.

If I could talk to the Minutes
I would beg for mercy.

Please
have mercy
on the wrinkles around my mother’s face,
and her joints that ache on chilly days.

Please
take pity
on her thick locks of hair
that are now losing their colour,
and her gorgeous brown eyes
that now see a blurry world.

If I had the privilege of meeting the Minutes,
one day,
I would look it in the eye
and it would understand
that no language
and no words
could convey what I had to say.