Survival is a habit by nature
not a choice that we can discard.
Even in the ruins of nothingness
perhaps a reason to rummage around.
Strewn around , here and there
are the memories of another day.
Before I can decide upon
whether to call out your name ;
I find an echo in the breeze
calling out your name.
On this obscure island that I live
and spend my time in solitary confinement ;
these are the only means of survival.
As I watch the horizon for that boat
that can rescue me from here,
I wait patiently for light years
with the echoes ringing in my ear.
This way I survive , yet another day
to find my way to you , once again.
If you would care to visit me silently
and see for yourself, my fight for survival
you could have understood;
why do the light years shrink into moments .
Cosmic dots in the canvas of eternity
trying to find their place , like mealong the dusty trail of a caravan.