memory of time

To this day that ends,

I am slowly turning back home,

all desires locked inside

a monosyllabic yawn,

as if i uttered charms,

of a distant time.

On the tip of a spear,

that separated my ribs,

into a forensic sample,

was marked with a sign

of wakefulness,

of forgetfulness,

of sleeplessness,

these were the marks of time

eternal, as they may seem.