Throughout my years, tomorrows
ran up ahead, beyond my outstretched arms.
When I was nine, tomorrow
was ten. When I was ten, tomorrow
was eleven. Tomorrows
seemed close. They pulled me like a magnet.
When I thought to have gained a tomorrow,
it moved ahead like a mirage.
Here is what I concluded: tomorrows
offered clean slates to me,
but didn’t watch what I wrote;
they seemed to hold promises,
but they never gave reports on promises fulfilled;
they even offered agendas,
but never ever attended the meetings.
And so for all those years,
like a wanderer seeing the promised land
but never reaching it,
I sojourned in todays
yet never set foot in tomorrows.
But now in my 80s
I have finally reached tomorrow
and have made myself quite at home.