And I’m staring at the ceiling
Trying to make sense of the patterns
Engraved so deeply.
Almost as if they are trying to tell me
To stretch out like them
To leave a mark on something
Which is inseparable.
The golden sun, which is now black
Will again glow tomorrow
The cold moon, which seems so pale
Will vanish in the heat of the sun.
It may be dark
But it has to find its way out
Of this long tunnel