Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

My fingers write down words 
My mouth cannot utter.  
My mind collects the pictures
 That my eyes photographed the winter. 

 Memories are the carriages
 Of a train that comes and goes...
Without a route.

 I look at the clock, 
It seems the same day.
The same day for months.

Night draws the curtain over this day, 
Yesterday's little child is today's old man...

Time passes like the waves 
Of a sea over the shore.
Footprints remain on the carpet of sand...