I was there, trying to find my way home,
Through the grasses, thorns and sticky loam
That had replaced the narrow footpath,
That once led man from this to that.
Without you is a dream coming true
A dream I never had but yet is coming true
Should I call it my destiny to be without you?
When the only light in my life is the sun that's you.
Fearsome soul sucker
Cold but a good messenger
Where are his trophies?
Alone, at times, I lie back and wonder-
How God made me an artist with words on paper
The beauty of the load I am born to deliver,
Remains a mystery-like a Qur'an to a believer.
Nature made me a vehicle without a break,
My motion is thus, a mandatory action.
Like everything that was created, I cannot stay young,
And have no map for my next destination.