Painting a Dream of My Own

When a marching band progresses in a rhythmic procession …
Space are transparent and times are predictable …
And I’m just a mindless body passing through in space and time

When a letter-filled bottle is thrown into an ocean …
Spaces become gray and times surprising …
And I’m just a hopeful slave with a wishful mind

But when a baby bird flies for the first time across nations …
Spaces are hideous and times are cruel …
And I become a bodiless mind soaring through my own space and time

It is then, and only then, I will know whats and whys …
And I will seek to find the days of painting a lifelong dream of myown

March 1995