And to a start and to an end, If ever you exist except inside my head, Know that time ceaselessly walks uninvited, Towards an ending for a new beginning of another end…

My lines have already been drawn, In her pristine existence. For she can stop my clock, And change my time into space, And I can feel all this, Without an ounce of spirit…

She lives the same old story, Of promises that were never meant to be, She knows she better hurry, Before the sun sets on her youthful hue…

And for me to see all this, A strange happiness crosses my mind, For I wait patiently for her heart to get broken, So I could beg at her doorsteps again…

Ever split your heart into two? Or were you busy buying those foreign dreams, From lips you wouldn’t have otherwise kissed, But now all your best laid plans, Ended up in tears and cans, And it pains now even without loving. Do you remember that boy, Who wanted to be your man?

Oh passer-by, but let not her smile deceive you, Into believing that you can possess her too, For she was here long before you, For she would be here long after you turn into ashes, For she is no one’s, yet everyone’s to love…

I do leave my bed to see tomorrow, And traverse the landscape that my desires paint, But every night when I return to my bed, My existence seems to be a mere exercise in repetition…

Just like the flowers, Who have forgotten autumn and winter, Oh my friend from past seven seasons, Have you forgotten me, Like the many names in your life? Or are you busy loving yourself, Trapped in your own enchantment are you?

A feeling that she is of spring making love, To the trees green and the doves, The same feeling of lying naked on the grass, And watch the rain falling from the stars. A feeling that she is that walks in and slips away, Like the sand of an hourglass. Oh her home the realm of feelings…