090424
@ CB

Will it ever matter if I don’t rhyme?
Will the symphony of my soul be brought to halt?
And if I ever stop chasing the seas,
Would I end up wandering
And be thrown into the lakes of uncertainties?

And when’s the time to speak up?
If no one would ever listen —
Their old windows were shut,
Will they ever roll up the blinds?

If I stop poetry,
Would they ever know?
Who would care if I lost appetite
And send petitions to heal my soul?

For many times I wonder
How the sun meets no end
But in the span of few hours
There’s no left in him —
And yet tomorrow is still his.

Some bids goodbye,
But some simply dive and never looked back.
They drive their own tires
But still missed out the trains.

Oh poor fellow,
They disgust with their own dirt.
Some picked up their mat
And already walked the talk
But some remained in silence
Hoping that one day, they’ll beg no more.

Some still plants the seeds they kept too long,
While some harvest what they toil.
And they’ll ask, “Will justice ever come?”
Some embrace the narrow roads —
Walking in silence and let go the gongs.
But some entered the wrong doors,
For their eyes are on fire
Throwing arrows from left to right.

A short of breath —
One sighs and one sleeps.
But the snap of the thunders,
The roaring of the mighty lion,
Aren’t they being disturbed?