Don’t let your heart become a paper boat sailing towards childhood,
Towards the harbor of its never returning fragrances,
Don’t float towards its crescent moons if you could,
or the enchanting crooning of its past tenses.
Don’t become an interpreter of the stories of its wispy clouds,
or a dancer in the anarchy of its Sunday clatters,
Don’t become a windmill in its watercolor playgrounds,
or a flower on the vests of its mad hatters.
Don’t become a violin wounding itself on rhymes,
or a knight in the country of its board games,
Don’t drink the mythology of its starry bed times,
or eat the sugar of its delicatessen remains.
Don’t go plunging towards the anchor-less tides of its laughter,
or towards the chandeliers of its shapeless wonder,
Don’t lose yourself in the crystal ball of its glorious here afters.
or its merry go rounds of gleeful surrender.
So when destiny calls, you will be here, waiting to answer,
Gather all your childhoods like the notes of a great song,
that which makes you tender, also makes you purer,
that which makes you tender, also makes you strong.
So when destiny calls, you will be here, like an invisible swan,
So when destiny calls, you will be here, waiting to be reborn.