Purple Cafe Poem by Hari Msonda

When do you find the time?

When do you breathe
between forced exhaustion
and forced awakenings?

When do you run
to your safe space
or are you doing the same as me?

Constant doubt,
no road map.

Is it as contradictory,
as full of unexplained emotions?

Do you love irrevocably?
Do you pick up trash you don't need?
Add "excellent chauffeur" to your CV?

So well fed, the right of youth is expected.
So loved, the eye rolls are second nature.

Chasing things that never meet.
Or does it feel like a distant light in the dark?

When do you defibrillate your heart
from the weight of it all?

I believe the answer is—you don't.
You're a professional, my love.

No one is as
qualified.
No one is as
lovingly loyal.

Tomorrow, roll out of bed
and assume the position
with grace.
With conviction.
With love.

Only you can do it.
Your time will come
keychains, echoes,
faded memories,
and whiffs of something lost.

People like you and me
we don't have people.
We are people that people have.

And there is too much beauty in that.

So when do you make the time?