A poem: Feathers of time

This city is not my city, 

These grounds are not my grounds,

This time is not my time, 

These feelings are not mine at all, 

Not even this body is mine to claim,

We are wanderers, travellers in this earth, 

We are just here on borrowed time, 

Destined to believe more than we live, 

Composed to love more than we fear, 

Defined to find the immortality, 

In this fragment of a moment in the today. 

So much work, so little time, 

Old souls come to claim what must… 

This place, this earth, it is not my home, 

We are stardusts assigned to change,

Queens and Kings with a royal duty, 

Imprinted in the endless hands of time. 

Carved forever in the feathers of love. 

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