searing into blinded eyes, they say tempus fugit – time flies, so lets fly, drift, float,
on dreams, in an old junk,
swaying to the waves,
in a creaking boat, yet sailing against the incoming jibes, breaking free of the tentacled tides, free at last to seek the new day, bidding farewell to the bland, eyes seeking out coconut land, where gurgling brooks, waters pure, may wash away these sins, discarded bluntly over the years, in neatly lined dustbins, weighing me down, as the beach of promise nears, a visual balm, soaking in the marvel, even as the mirage clears.

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