Memories soar, those cheerful moments,
Soon turn to scars, they are all swords.

You experienced the talons of desire,
Who never is brave never comes of age,
Upon a windy breeze, a silk-road distance,
Day dreamers shift to day travellers.

Hey, our ancestors,
Don't we preserve the same genes?
Scars from swords. Wars, wars and wars,
They all soaked into a blood
ancient book.
 
Hey, our childhood mates,
Haven’t you healed that patch of rotten wound?
The time has sealed its luminous web,
The remnants remain still.

You who stand firm

like a hidden door receding into eternity!

Your feet are bleeding thresholds,
We find comfort in sorrow,

fulfilment in what’s hollow.
Our aimless time travel continues
and we follow.

In the land of silk
goods traded hands-
cotton, ivory, wool, gold, and silver -
down one stretch of land

a down side to this trade
that led to much disarray
was the bandits and disease
that also traveled this way