We were born chasing the wind
Yet the tempo was always shy from perfect
Crowned in rags, feasting on morrow’s fantasy
Borrowed
Scaled to our sweat’s rhythm
We burnt our backs chasing
While time was always insufficient.
Barricaded to pleasure
We were the host of it all
Yet none played at our platters
Feeding a few in celebration
While the rest feast on blisters
As the tempo for life,
Tapped through holes.
Wholesome from afar
We were the jewel of the moment
Yet glittering to none
Deemed fools’ gold in our awakening
As our birth, had a tale to tell
But the tail of the past
Had a goal to score.
