A fresh grass rising from the ground
Swaying by the winds command
It doesn't know its purpose
Nor can't say when it will be used.
It's just there dreaming for a better day
Hoping not to wilt so soon and become hay.
Sunflower in a dark-cold room,
Searching for the light, it bents on its own.
How many days should I wait for the sun?
Ten? Hundred? Or maybe a thousand?
I'm not as feminine as flower
or as strong as a tree,
But I'm already wilted and I cannot be free.
Firefly in the city, thirsty and hungry
Finding a home goes weary.
It flies and flies and travelled very far
Hoping not to be kept in a jar.
It lost its light in the evening
Does it show beauty when it's not shining?
Years I've been hushed, waiting for the next season.
How many stations should I pass before reaching my destination?