Seniority is reality.
Everyone starts with expectations
For his or her attempt
To own color conformity,
To live with color’s shade.
Yet distance is felt
When paint has got cracks,
And shabby silhouette-shaped
Links do arrive, delivering
Images of life get abandoned.
You know a tired warrior
Rests upon knees to count days,
Parting is the way
Hearing singing of perfection
That still sounds great.
One by one the unborn gets momentum
To build the concord on cracked color.
Seniority does not always repaint it.
Poetry Page 