As the leaves reappear one after the other
And the sky resonates with loud motors no longer,
Rather the melody of the feathery comets,
The timelessly rushed city does not comment.

It does not look up or stop the watch,
But carries on the proud march,
Out of breath, never in one place,
The race dictates the pace,
For the pride of glorious success,
Or to avoid the darkness of loneliness.  

You don’t even smile anymore, no pretending,
But when last did you last looks past
Your own existence. Nature and harmony,
Only a distant memory, is this how it was meant to be?