The days are bright, but I could see dark clouds,
Heavy and ready, to be someone's dismay;
I have questions, with no answers but doubts:
All buds that bloom, do they wither one day?
If I may cry, will the lost one return,
If I grieve today, will a life be lively anew,
A life one dreamt to be a dream, for it now we mourn;
Not all, do they, who exist, value it, but a few.
A morose habitant in this world, akin to me;
Can't help but remorse, and wait for his time:
Helpless and wild, knows he's bound and not free,
Too weak, uncertain, destined to follow the same line.
To days, to weeks, to years, the time may elapse, but
Melancholy in my heart, for them, shall never end,
It'd surely, remind me, that my life too, will shut:
I, alike all, will pass; it's a reality none can bend.