If Hope Had A Name
A hummingbird once told me stories of primordial times
That men were stars and left galaxies in their wake
And all those before them and all those that followed
Left a story to tell, their energies never waned
It told me, ‘Young soul, listen carefully. Etch this into your heart.
The world is old but you are young
The days have went and more will come-
Days would feel concluding, when it’s only just begun.
Dooms day cometh and the sun would bleed for you
But it rises, time and time again.
Every ray; an unspoken reminder
That you were meant to rise despite tenebrous skies
Time is a knavish conductor, perpetually strewing an eternal symphony of vestiges
The great molto vivace of your felicities and triumphs;
Coalesced with the dolce of your sorrows and throes;
Do you not see?
You are a legend.
Art sung by the zeniths of spring;
Declared by the thunders of storms.
You are muse to the roars of the ocean
And the focal point of the rain’s ode
You are a living mystery; the world’s momentous glory
So remind yourself, incessantly
That when days are lonely, and your colors are drained
If hope had a name, it would have been You.’