In the pocket
I have many things that you don’t have yet.
They will come.
What you have, I have had,
and it will not return to me.
My words mean as much to you
as regrets mean to newborns,
and that’s the way it should be
because you are young and I am not.
You seek comfort that you are with your time.
But you are with it, because this is your time.
You toil searching the key that will open the world to you,
watching where birds point.
But the door is already wide open
and birds turn with the winds.
I can see in your shadow
who I was in my turn.
I am still the same but I have found the key now.
It was in my pocket all along.
Why don’t you look in yours?