Time: a malignity,
A friend and vicious enemy,
Around it, we build our phantom of entity.
And at the end, like fallen mercenaries,
We remember our lives' scenarios,
How much we dreamt that we would win this war,
How we would stand like rulers and from far
Above the world, we would watch the greatness that we left behind.
But there is nothing. Only haunted castles and a broken heart.
Why do we gift Life a void and dare to call it “Art”?
Oh, Time, my favorite executioner and abstract identity
Give me one more minute to enjoy this ending eternity.