Disclaimer: This poem is merely a loose translation of a Chinese poem a friend wrote. The creation of this poem is entirely credited to them.
The stack of books ╴
in them written the spells of our youth
that seemed never ending.
The row of tears ╴
writes the sorrow of the inexorable.
It will be lost.
The rays of sunshine
glows weak on our unwritten future.
Young and facetious ╴
the familiar memory morphs into a distant past.
But we don’t regret making no regrets.
--29/6/2022
Theme : Self