Your Nameless Season

What will you be doing two-thousand years from now, my dear?

Would these pointless fights have ceased, and the helpless cries disappeared?

You must have witnessed countless iterations of us by then,

Would they all have felt just as adorable all over again?

 

When this tree will have shed all its seasons,

And the blues above look lonelier beyond reason

My body that would have long rotten away,

May its essence be consumed to console your solitude by the winds that sway.

 

The pain keeps tormenting my body,

As a fog of amnesia clouds the precious memories of ‘us’.

I try to paper over the cracks in our story,

As the march of time tramples over this withering fantasy, our aging love.

 

I lament each heavy footstep of mine,

While the world leaps away a boundless time.

An all-too-familiar smile shrouds your everlasting face,

Does it veil the weariness of relieving this eternal cycle of change?

 

I once more confront this ugly monster called ‘change’,

Even though the countless partings are what led me to you.

Would my cries strip down to silent echoes and fade,

As our sandcastle named ‘forever’ would embrace the waves and bid adieu.

 

To you, who has seen empires rise and civilizations fall,

Does this horrifying ephemerality feel like an endless, mind-numbing loll?

 

You bend over and smile at my ashen face, as your frame shudders all over.

Grasping my leaden palm, the starry tears trickle over my frozen skin, and I wonder,

What will you be doing two-thousand years from now, my dear?