What I wish for, what I look for, Regardless of what keeps me run my race, Is just recognition, not fame. Where it comes from, whom it comes from, From minds sincere to see the life in words That I write, that I breathe.
Like a smoke whirling and dancing around the fire, My thoughts lights and shades me up, From the darkening clouds, clouds of greed. The pathway folded in spirals, is long enough, With a carpet made of red, to be rolled out, Stood I patiently, devotedly, with my inner eye open. The world is still of good souls, the ones, Who inhales good air that evades subterfuge, Asks me to pace along, rather tenaciously!