I’m glad
you’re here,
I heard some voiceover
Striding towards me…
I saw scratched words
on broken windows;
With the cracks
of your earnestness
I can see the locked doors;
all around you
barren but crucial walls;
Yes, i saw you
so many times
Scribbling as a toddler
No pen nor paper…
I saw a glass, a bottle
and TV with dead pixels;
I heard some whispers
singing resentment
but as audience only you;
I knew
you were waiting
with hammered clock,
So here I am
retrograded cynic person…
