while treading my dynamic present,
whenever i cross the wooden valley of my past,
where, tyrant autumn is a sad irony of today.
i see no one, but the bereaved footprints of my own.
so pristine and so lively, still today.
when i become infidel and bluff my present,
i venture out into my past
and drench myself into the rain of yesterday
and solace myself in those non - existing moments
" if you were my ever existing today and morrow".
whenever i cross the wooden valley of my past.......