To the future –
I hope you and I are flying.
I write about the race against time
Which I keep running for, and I’m
Wondering why it never seems to end
As my aching feet of despair portend:
I long for hands to hold, and to be held,
For stories of happiness unparalleled
But alas, no hands are held in running race –
There’s hunger for victory, not love’s embrace.
Oft I gasp for breath, wonder if anyone else
Can see it, or feel the music of my pulse
Which rises and falls and makes me a whole,
A river running to peacefully end at its bowl.
But I only run in a want to stop running
I run in search of an undefined something
Not found without life and much ado;
I draw the finish line, and name it ‘You’.
Time builds its course up and up
And a faint determination helps me to lollop
Through it all – even the rough affection
I run along, not losing direction.
I write of you, a glimpse of colour in the grey
Flashing, beckoning to meet me halfway
Promising you’ll stay put, patiently wait
Where you would, even If I slow my gait.
And I shall let destiny be the ink to my pen
And guide me to the very moment when
On your shoulder I will find my shore
And run I will no more.