Like a piece of useful paper thrown into the mud,
Rolled over - face down, face up, by the feet,
Designed into a fine artwork from dust and dirt,
And in minutes its worth becomes worthless;

Like wood melted by the redness of hot coals,
Into the guiltless and waiting hands of nature,
Mix and matched, entwined with thin air,
And the ashes drip on the laps in form of tears;

24 hours travel of the hands of the clock
Seems like eternity until it's measured as 1 day,
Likewise, the start of 365 days stays far from its end,
Until it's rounded up into the scale of 1 year;

In the shallow depths of our broad palms,
Lies the power to make today count tomorrow,
However, no matter how we pull the horn of the ram,
We'll sit at the night fire and her ashes tomorrow.

Night Fire

#TheLastWordrior

Author: - Toochi