Afloat upon the rivulet of life,
we are frail, pellucid paper boats,
slowly drifting and faltering along,
the deluge of unfathomable depths.

On the mercy of turbulent tides,
we tiptoe along the riant, blind,
coveting through the tacit brooks,
shrouded in a pall of reticence.

And we depart afar forevermore,
alike the mellow summer breeze,
as if entrapped betwixt a moment,
with the reminiscences of yore.

Never do we reach the golden bay,
we had dreamed anew and anew.
The dusk of life approaches anon,
dripped in dolor and mirth alike.

And we waddle amidst the deluge,
moments apart from boring neath,
recollecting moments we despised,
while craving for a better morrow.

Silently we depart, unsaid, forever,
along departs some reticent wishes.
Morrow’s dawn will bloom beautiful,
paper boats will float anew.

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