that set up the ceiling
of this very moment,
I can picture a noisy
stream of unfulfilled
desires and shades,
that crawls silently,
like a heist of chances,
towards my reach.
Forward the field
of unattended matters,
which regrets over,
I can, for once,
dream of the brick
that i could pose;
concreting home.
Sizing the turbulence
of future spreads,
a momentary clarity,
reveals the foolish vision
that treads benefits
of the blissful ignorance.
More over is just
an unmeaningful planning
for a route that is ending
somewhere from its start.
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