Get the cow off the ice

A giant cow lays
in the middle of a frozen lake,
back to the ice, limbs towards the sky
in solitude.

I was birthed beside it.
I tug, I push, I exhaust.
A mockery from You, perhaps,
the cow comes back
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow.

How foolish my pride
to blare my horn on that delicate ice
dreaming myself Hercules.
It is but a mirage, a million sparkles
dancing on the glossy ice
blinding each stomp of my grandiose endeavour
only to vanish under the melancholic sky.

How hollow my vanity
to believe I could outdo Sisyphus.
It is but a dream my ancestors wove,
a façade of inevitable destructions
like that mushroom cloud, that golden halo,
that light that’s never burned brighter.
Shockwaves of man-made wonders,
in their palmless prayers
in the dying of that dazzling light,
consumed them.

Futile!

I realize the cracking of the sheet beneath my feet,
my attempts in vain.
This thin, glassy skin of Yours
holds me no longer.

There I am,
back to the ice, limbs towards the sky,
falling into the abyss that is the lake

surrounded by Your glacial yet forgiving touch.
My lungs filled not with water,
but a promise that tomorrow will return
without the cow.