BORN;

“So, the night is mine,

all mine to ponder,

ponder upon the times that have passed away,

away and gone far.

Maybe quite far but, not lost.

As the clock pendulums,

and every time a story ends,

it brings forth all those memories,

that were buried one over the other.

The buried memories,

burn me alive.

Am I settling things or,

am I rattling my own pieces

to create a noise inside my head,

that comfortably numbs me from the weight.

The white noise of this numbness,

turns into the whispering sound of the sand,

that slowly slips down,

in the crystal hourglass.

This whispering from the each running sand grain,

warps the time,

for it has slowed it down,

for me,

to reconcile with my dreams,

to feel this life again with,

a single thump of my heart.

That one single beat,

embarks a new beginning,

of a novel story,

with concrete promises,

and a new hope,

of a better tomorrow.

I wish to be given one more chance,

to turn the side of the hourglass,

with my own hands,

because there are memories,

feelings, emotions, sentiments, mistakes,

and days that I want to surpass.

But, the pieces that fell apart,

must be recollected,

for every piece,

completes the story.

I have one of my own,

the one which awaits to be told,

to unravel, to unfold.

It’s a story where I must first die,

only to be,

Born, again!”