Our eyes, resemble still marble statues—both melancholic and
beautiful; they reflect the aspirations of birds yearning for an idyllic
sanctuary among the trees. The essence of our humanity aches for
wholeness, a desire to be a complete poem, even as the poet grapples
with solitude in their musings.
Burdened by their own dream's illusion, they don the mask of
the present, to linger in this moment, haunted by the shadows of
yesteryears and anxious about a future that remains unwritten to
our eyes. Thus, our eyes remain ensnared, confined to the now,
perceiving only what is before us, while the shadows of our history continue to linger in the background.
We may claim to act as deities, yet we are merely incomplete gods.
Forever yearning for what we cannot grasp.
