The possibilities lie in our hands.
We should not drop them when the winter
Sets in, when the sun scorches, and
Leaves us with slippery fingers
For on such many nights, your stomach—
It will knot screaming on a lonely mountain:
Fear is a strange visitor lurking at the back
Never courageous to come in full glare
When dusty winds blow into our eyes
We wait, weary, yet our oars remain strong
Touching the Atlantic, connecting our minds
Knowing full well that our paths
Shall dare to hug
Even if, for
A
Short
Space
Of
Breath.
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
