Manifesto of the Wasted Moment

Throw away the calendar,
Forget tomorrow, forget yesterday,
The only time that matters is now,
And it doesn’t exist.

In the ruins of rationality,
we dance,
barefoot on shards of meaning,
where the absurdity of existence
is a canvas splattered with chaos,
each stroke a rebellion,
each laugh a protest against the mundane.

Unravel the threads of expectation,
Let them drift like autumn leaves,
spiraling, twirling,
caught in the wind’s whimsical embrace —
here lies freedom.

We are not clocks ticking down,
but echoes of laughter,
fractals of folly —
infinite,
unruly,
and beautifully unbound.

Time is a mirage,
a shimmering illusion,
where the past is a ghost,
the future a dream,
and we,
we are the breath of the moment,
the silent symphony of non-action.

Here, in the void of waiting,
we find the pulse of life,
the heartbeat of the now,
where nothing is expected,
and everything is a surprise —
the glorious absurdity of being.

So let us raise our glasses,
to the wasted moments,
the ones that slip through our fingers,
like sand, like laughter,
the ones that defy the clock,
and whisper,
“We are here, and that is enough.”