Looking outside for clouds
The sky tells me, we won't be rowing
I see the dead who ask me riddles
'Three times a sailor in the wind
Frees his sails on the fourth wind
Will he ever find land?'
All I could think of was
How far I had gone
Never knowing I was born
Now I was compelled by fear
Or God, who told me
Peace comes to those who wait
Not the opportunists cut night and day
To find their way
Worrying they are too late