Eyes of kites, ships on clouds,
Gone oft she’s found.
When asked whereabouts,
“Don’t you hear?”, a reality is put to doubts.
As I raced with my own speed,
A halt, she was, by the reed.
Limited, we were, in our own time,
Like the horizon stretched her rhyme.
Once I dared; peeked into her land.
“Come the rain, gone would be your castles of sand!
Why hold on, then, to what will not stay?
When the golden is gone, what of your days, comes the grey?”.
Seized I was by the darkened daze,
She held me soft with a burning gaze.
“Like you dreamt of golden in your days of sanguine?
Days golden, as poles, shall bear thoughts of grey, to palanquin.
What does it please you to swing in the fabric of shroud?
Such an irony you are – slave to all but self yet proud!
I stay yet win, you race yet lose.
You do or not, this indeed, is for you to choose.
And back we stared into the massive nothing.
How eternal this world, yet stays without a ring.
Silence descended over the mirror,
An eternal war, it had been, with an incessant terror.