Among zillions of moments that I walked on this earth, many paths are left stranded, many days unattended,

I can ruminate in my vacuum, pick up the pebbles and through them away.
I can change my path or track a new road, but I can never bring back the travelers who could never cross these walls of pebbles and returned home.

I can erase the pencil but I can never get rid of the dents left behind, these bruises will stay in the pages of time.

Those days starved for my love,
buried in a mountain of apathy.

Those skeleton road loses a bit more,
waiting for the river of death to find them home.

Yet I wish relations were like days and roads,
we could at least have a dawn after a night,
we could trace our way back to the beginning.