The wind takes the leaves in a gust and a rustle.
The wind leads dust with its youthful whistle.
I need a way back but I'm excluded from this hustle.
Looking down from the window, my joy dormant within me, yet I find something in observing the circle of life that excuses me.
Can't I blow away too?
like my inheritance...
like my destiny...
like the twinkle in my eye, who when I wake, abandons me.
They say dust to dust, and ashes to ashes.
Is this all I am? Alive in a casket?
I've become the black inkblot in a blue dye sky
I douse the sun with the tears of cries.
A star, whose rays used to reach down.
Hands would stretch up and my sparkle would astound.
If only a gust
If simply a blow
If merely a breeze could send me
Because nature knows
I'm his son, Though years forgotten.... Though Fortune has been rotten, but an empty space is spared for the hope that I will soon return there.
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