Monachopsis

Eight corners, twelve lines, a space enclosed

My kingdom, my dreams, my beginning and my end

The slow passing of time through veins

And the never ending tic-tac-toe of fate

Why they call it freedom
If each bird is chained to its own sky
And what do raindrops tell to the earth
Before they plunge into their death

Sometimes one addresses to its future self
Explaining things that seems out of place
But it is difficult to make someone understand
When the only language you know is silence

But again who knows
What someone is capable of
Send me a note may be
If you ever get out of this maze