We sit on different stairs, peace in between,
Our thoughts stand out from each other,
It really feels so near yet so far away,
Sure, no one will ride here to put us right.

The westerly winds laced with raindrops,
Speak to us in a semantic that is no longer spoken,
Like the mirror gives an illusion of real depth,
Not every clue we need has survived the timeslot.

The evening sings the most delightful muse ever,
We try to grasp something, it slips farther away,
The bright flowers play fair with the setting sun,
We want to escape from the prison of our days.

We do not know at all but we would like to.
The mosaic of words of the conflict and struggle,
We tend to argue when people whisper in public
That you are all the same and never regretting it.