As time passes
March upon March comes to end
April creeps
with spring turning into warmth
anxiety slumbers
anxiety crumbles
Yet anxiety mumbles
watching above
the invisible hands
not only Adam Smith
‘but those fairies beside
the angels who hide
pushes me beside
like waves on ocean
like breeze on summery nights
the invisible hands
protect me on time
maybe
or maybe not
we get addicted
to invisible hands
Cheering behind
looking out for invisible hands inside