After forty years
none of these will have a meaning;
Your face will be full of wrinkles
your hands will shiver
your smile will wither
just like–
when you were born!


Ah, for the living

For the sign, that comes without a sign;
For the shout, that comes without a sound;
For the favor, that comes without a question
And for the word, that comes without any abbreviation!


On the other side of the road, houses!
Lined one after another
As though, they’re running from me.
Waving at me, wishing me luck
But not willing to join me.