Stranger is someone among us.

Silent with the thought of his

Hands around the little caged

Pulse. Once he soaked the wrought iron

With golden memories and charms.

 

He is intolerable.

As no one is aware of his

Devious devotion to

Painting time with a beautiful

Masquerade.

 

What is that feeling in your gut?

Someone is pushing upward

To your chest, throat, and memory.

Nostalgia is disturbing

Development towards tomorrow.

 

Without his smile, yesterday

Is heavier – but the sun

Illuminates the future.

Who said the past is a blessing

When tomorrow is still waiting?