Driving alone at dusk
on what they see as roads,
roads that take them far.
I see the gravel beneath,
and my pebbles soaring far
Desolate benches they see,
where I see sunny ghosts,
ghosts still having a bash.
For they own the benches now
just like they always have
Ritzy glass shops,
where once, the setting sun
meant end of days play,
and it used to break hearts.
That streetlight across the ground,
where lie the forlorn shards
Busy cross roads,
coz the glass runs out of sand
Only once had it stopped,
my beats had counted seconds,
and I had held her little hand
New lives and new faces,
new past and its traces
New loves and their journeys,
new desires and their burnings
They sing these songs truly
but only I know,
and stars vouch for me,
how the tunes used to be
Nothing so fragrant,
nothing so nostalgic,
not even the love of hers
Call me a timeless poet
if I can cast my timeless childhood,
into half so timeless words