The swallows went, there will be time when they will return. The willow wilted, there will a time when it will be green again. The may flowers drooped, there will be a time where it will bloom again. But, clever you, tell me, tell me why do the days go but never return ? Did someone steal them : who are they ? Where did they hide it ? Did they ran away ? But now, where are they ?
I do not know how many days they gave us. But my hand was slowly emptied. Silently calculating, eight thousands of days had slipped past. Like a dew on a blade, dropping into the sea, my days dropped into the currents, without sound, without shadows. The air doesn't stir, rain touches my face.
All that goes, went. All that comes, came. Coming and going, being hurried. When I wake up early, the little hut was shined by three rays of sun. The sun has legs too you know ? Silently slinking away, I chased my tail. So – washing my hands, days slipped into the sink ; eating, days slipped away from my bowl. Mutely, it went pass before mine eyes. I watched it hurrying away, reaching out my hand, it slipped past. The day is now dark, and as I lie in my bed, it flew past my feet. When I rejoined my eyes with the sun, another day passed. I sighed.
So clever one, tell me, tell me, why do the days go and never come back.
