
In brink of burnout,
brittle like an old man’s bones,
nature watching, us.

To magical lands,
where breeds trees, peace, and green leaves,
feet goes; mind does too.

Silent history,
peaceful as monastery,
mystery, nature.

Promising, it seems,
a light in the horizon—
a brighter future?

A crude watermark,
staining our lives forever—
a nation, suppressed.