Your Gravestone

Let us say for a tiny moment, that you gave up being a dreamer,
            That you would never dream again;

But what happened to your dreams?

All those precious fragments of you, 

kept safe for ages underneath your ribs;

Somewhere out of every stranger’s reach.

What did your hands do to them?
What about the sky you once set eyes upon?

Has its color already faded away?

Does the wind’s humming sound no longer inviting as it used to be?
When did the sparrow’s flight give up temptation?


Was it maybe the car that parked in front of your door?