When you pronounce the word Future,
I look at the fluttering of your eyelids.
Like traveler birds, they sit restless,
waiting for next season to fly away.
Yesteryears hollar from your buried soul,
trying to prove to you all simplified narratives.
Let me explain this now, time is misleading us.
Too many times I sit alone to feel the present,
the present of the quiet, the present of love,
the present where we should belong.
What we have is right now, in between the lines,
in the drops of rains that touch warm grass.
As the sun sets the world, and a candle is lit
to open memories, let us sit here for a while.
let the world move on.
We are here for a while.