It is those few,

Who bind us,

And often unseen, …

It is behind tall doors,

And brick facades,

Where for years, …

It seems strange,

How with age,

Clearly I perceive, …

The haziness,

Along the path,

Is only there, …

Messages,

Are written all around,

Even on the ground, …

I often thought expressions,

Are easy to read,

But more often, …

Some learnings,

Refuse to reach home,

No matter how often, …

Perhaps those parts,

That I know exist,

But can no longer reach, …

Now looking back,

Through eyes,

That lands have seen, …

Maybe if I close my eyes,

Letting the child play,

As in days long gone by, …

How often,

We adorn the world,

Hiding essence, …

Balanced and organized,

Is my dream of life.

But it’s unpredictable, …

It is hard,

To fathom society,

Where we spend, …

To see the world,

And oneself,

As clearly as wide-open fields, …

Some things,

Appearing before me,

Are hard to understand. …

I used to gather things,

Often thinking,

I don’t have enough. ….

Toady,

I swim beside her,

Knowing her presence, …

Some pictures,

Speak a thousand words,

But in a language, …

It didn’t matter,

Where among the many,

I tried to hide, …

Friends,

Kind gestures,

Thoughtful moments, …