As I see and remember my past pieces;
which are the strings binding my past;
a sequence plays before my very eyes.
They never fail to remind me;
of all I had achieved.
And never fail to sadden me;
over all I have lost.
These words written in black & blue;
and red & green.
Remind me that this whole world;
simply is mean.
Though there are people, yet none for you;
only for themselves.
Therefore, this Door Into the Past;
I must close;
but should I? They are all the memories;
of my own prose.
Different though, am I, but can I;
bear part with all?
A lone figure, sitting by my side;
And I, flowing softly,
With sonorous splashes, he the waiting one, I, the waited one.
A bench by a river, serving anyone, everyone, unbiased;
If only life could be thought so, fair, and just…
How great the world would be? How wonderful???
Ohh, what a dream.