Poems are yet to come and I am patient, which I learnt from the setting sun.

I tasted joy in between times when horrors annoy.

How rich has become my soul from the emotions and how poor my heart has become from the devotions to the memories, the no more existings in motions.

The birds are free and I am free,

The birds cry and I do cry,

The birds fly and I do try,

To find my wings,

To find my wings...