And, with crossed fingers once, I sat
In a moving train and wondered,
How did the world get itself
In such a rush?
People running in all directions
Blinded by reflections of gold;
While I always found myself wanting
of hope, light or torn shreds, to hold.
And with crossed fingers, I sat,
Waiting, just like everybody else,
Waiting for life to pass by,
Perhaps waiting for someone to come;
Waiting for this season to change,
Looking for shade to hide from the sun;
Waiting for better times to come.
For blood or blissful glory,
Or for completely new lines
For an old bitter story.
For justice of words,
For sinful vengeance or God above;
An ode or a requiem,
A little something for long lost love!
And while I waited,
I forgot about footprints in the sand,
And yet I felt the burden of ages,
Upon the lines of fate,
Lines drawn in the palm of my hand;
And I just sat there hoping,
Hoping for justice, in a lawless land.