The grains slipped through the hourglass,
I was back in a world made of sass,
Stroking by the lush grass,
I stumbled onto a container made of brass.
Now I am no maven, but the box was filled with dreams from when I was seven,
Those simpler times that felt like heaven,
That is when I learned to fly like a raven.
Back when desires could ascend skies,
My hopes had neither bounds, nor ties,
After all, there is more than just a plane that flies,
Now I know it was as though fantasies in diguise.
I can still be anyone I want,
But realism is the phantom that daunts,
Hiding behind a million taunts,
Perhaps, I forgot the thrill that passion flaunts.
Even so, I found my way back;
For it is dreams that I chase,
Let it be a mere phase,
Lingering around this confusing maze,
Any gaze won’t faze,
I say ‘this isn’t a race!’
Remember, what is abandoned isn’t always erased,
But perhaps, just hiding beneath all the damn craze,
Nonetheless— still yours to chase.
January, 2026
