Thursday, 17 March 2016

22 Lossage, xi

When the sun shifts towards westland-from the horizon of last crest.
Ere the darkness become unearthly even finding hard to walk
Every living returns to their home, that made out of their happiness
No matter how important is the day or their event-
Home is just a home, another source of their happiness.
without absentee, without counting their distance, one should attain,
For the meeting of peace and joy, betwixt family, love and trust.
That is the habit of our time and a practice of our routine.
But when i travel, i travel to the distance of elsewhere,
that do not covers by the instrument to measure,
may be call as crossing the mor reaching to the limit of imaginary,
That i travel faster than the time machine, seen in some fantasy movies,
 Nobody knows me, where i am but they knows to know i am with them,
walking, talking, playing and passing the time together
because they have a eyes to see my carcass with them breathing,.
Evenly, i am not death, but still on the dream of heaven-with them.
As i focus myself, i travel a lot for your shadow,
enjoying every second of your moment inside your reach of eyes
but as you focus by your emotion a day, you can feel me aye
but, you even didn't know to have known i am with your darkness,
So as i love, i love to ask a sense from god,
That could help me to show myself that i was always with you.
(suppose for a day in privacy)