21. A beam of light
A beam of light perched upon my window pane,
the solace in silence and the silence in that emptiness,
took over the triviality of dark days,
when there was no music in my life.
I sat in my room, on a table with a chair,
doing nothing is both a despair and a pleasure.
I am here, seeing the world with a different lens,
Vandalizing the time given to me.
Can't do anything than see or flee,
this catches me some boredom,
hard, heavy and recklessly cumbersome,
wish I could pace out this window,
to play with winds and white snow,
that waves me out to visit the meadows.
Visiting broken chambers through hurdles,
that run along this evergreen river.
Wish I could be one of those cripples,
among those small and tiny creatures,
singing a chap, dreaming on the velvety grass,
murmuring in the night and dance under the stars.
My room was now filled with the soul of books whose pages were left unread,
spreading its mustiness in those thousand sprinting particles,
along with a ray of light that perched upon my window pane.
I was lost in some world, vandalizing all its time,
meticulously following every letter's route,
with that musty smell of book, still strolling my room,
as I was transiting to a different place with every sip of coffee I took.
I could see, little sparrows artlessly chirping,
and collecting twigs for their tiny home.
At the end of the day I remained to be not alone,
I could be one with them and none,
vandalizing all of the time in this world,
when a beam of light perched upon my soul.
took over the triviality of dark days,
when there was no music in my life.
I sat in my room, on a table with a chair,
doing nothing is both a despair and a pleasure.
I am here, seeing the world with a different lens,
Vandalizing the time given to me.
Can't do anything than see or flee,
this catches me some boredom,
hard, heavy and recklessly cumbersome,
wish I could pace out this window,
to play with winds and white snow,
that waves me out to visit the meadows.
Visiting broken chambers through hurdles,
that run along this evergreen river.
Wish I could be one of those cripples,
among those small and tiny creatures,
singing a chap, dreaming on the velvety grass,
murmuring in the night and dance under the stars.
My room was now filled with the soul of books whose pages were left unread,
spreading its mustiness in those thousand sprinting particles,
along with a ray of light that perched upon my window pane.
I was lost in some world, vandalizing all its time,
meticulously following every letter's route,
with that musty smell of book, still strolling my room,
as I was transiting to a different place with every sip of coffee I took.
I could see, little sparrows artlessly chirping,
and collecting twigs for their tiny home.
At the end of the day I remained to be not alone,
I could be one with them and none,
vandalizing all of the time in this world,
when a beam of light perched upon my soul.