When you will be gliding around, at the blink of tomorrow
unobservant and callous,
prodigal and extravagant
I shall let my words and your time
pass in peace, but
I will wait for the momentum to strike.
I owe not to hit on head- that’s my past,
I prefer wisdom, there, bulging loose
at the brink of malignant sea, howling
I prefer calibration for all your lying faces
and all your poor methods,
All I wish is a conscientious living.
And I shall wonder your undeniable laugh and lampoon
you write your letters to the children of tomorrow.