Want to ask,
but to whom,
are all silent,
nobody wants to know.
Quiet is always welcome,
just a cigarette lit,
and lizards scrambling for mosquitoes,
accompany the beauty of solitude.
The dreams are neatly arranged,
all have been scattered again.
The blooming flowers,
let buds as usual.
Can only hope,
the return of something that has gone,
although long will be awaited,
though far to be searched.
Why there is fear,
when knowing all is mortal.
Why look happy,
while everything is in sight.
