Time
has left footprints,
on mortality, I may go
one day. You will live
in my poems.
Not damaged
by untruths, remaining
entirely human, among
the wolves and brutes.
The body of water
carries the loaves of sleeping
men. The promises broken.
I set my foot for a new journey.
Becoming impersonal
would you ever weigh my
soul songs written for you?
And you bite the pen to write my name.
The eternity invites the
first Yogi to sit under the palm
and recite the last prayer.