Listening to light as it arrives from the deepest past,
   only to be stricken by the dark,
   as it passed the last mile
Seeing voices bound by etchings on a tombstone,
   only to be silenced by memories,
   that forgot how to smile
Touching wind storms demanding audience with me now,
   only to be shepherded into balloons,
   that can only float and beguile
Climbing waves of torrent driven by images of sparkling sands
   only to be reminded once again,
   of the futility of living in exile