How will it matter
if I can touch or feel
the surface of the slate
on which you write
instrunctions for time to fellow,
I may not even be able
to Smell, the aroma of an
early morning dew,
| may not see the colours
of the rainbow in your
eyeys,
when they are sparkled,
But my incapacity
can not determine
the depth
‘to which one can
measure
the hope of finding
Some water, in a dry parched land,
I can try, melt, dissolve
and disintegrate
so that I can fertilize
the bed
in which you sow, the seeds
of your hope, faith and music