Time is creeping on the walls
In the clocks
Time is not on the sun
On its molten surface
Only madness runs
Without moments
Without conjunction
Between an imagination of a boiling aroma
And the reality that defies the satisfaction
The whole illusion
Of more than what happened
Is time……
In the false reflection of its proven fact
I am born, done and died
Countable! I am….
Time is not in the fallow might of the stars
It is never been a spy in the skies
Time is inside my heart’s ambiguous rhymes
Just a flutter of mortality
It is just a cry.