On Early Mornings...

every word is chosen
some discarded like chaff from the grains
but not every feeling is worth its showing
some chaffs in this perspective
are meant to be kept
somehow

when the wind comes and begins
to blow all these chaffs away
the fear is there
that some may get blinded
somehow

somewhere is a place to stay
and keep all those sad memories
bury them like the dead ants
so they cannot build their empires again