Shadows that draw
their/lines/ dig profound
as if years could flow
or bank onto shores of yore
(whose face?/)
Mark routes
accordingly to sidewinding
wrinkles
in the background
African beats
Asia Claims too the drumbeat
.
We are to believe
theirs is ours
so are we told this day
those which
are not to are
as if they are: today
foreign experiences
whose old faces never see
.
Hours come & go
beating the ego
how precious moments
beat without meaning at all