There is a collector who owns billions of marbles,
He takes care of each one, none of them he garbles.
He polishes them with care, until they are shiny as chrome,
But they are slightly unorganized, and freely they roam.
The marbles wander about, curiously through his estate,
With no course or destination, they travel and they wait.
Each marble has one instinct, and it is to find its match,
For each marble has a duplicate, and through both a new marble will hatch.
How does a marble find a match, with just the right colors and swirls?
Is their meeting predestined, around Fate's finger which twirls?
Would a marble happen to know, whether it is going the right way?
The marble just has to believe, for as we know a marble cannot say.
If the marble never finds its match, and finds itself in despair,
The collector will comfort it, because he's always there to care.
He shall remind the marble there's a perfect match, it's true,
My marble is a tint of blue, how about you?
4 comments:
This is really good. I never know where you are going and I love your endings.
Nice poem about kismet. When relationships of destiny insinuate themselves, some call it kismet. It’s the chance encounters, where we suddenly find in an event or another person the delights of an “ancient belonging. We all long for/look for those relationships. What do you have to offer? For what you offer, is what you get back.
keep believing, trust in yourself, and have faith, love will come for you, promise. I love this one
She is out there - You will find her -
And she will be one lucky woman.
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