The time has come for them to rise again.
Their colour isn’t what they were supposed to be.
The floor has become colourless,
They have lost their shinning brightness,
Their long lasting life has ended first,
Their breath has landed on the greyish soil.
Our sights have befallen into a plain one.
Our hearts are in normal black and white movies.
They must rise again, they must return.
A tree has died devoid of their presence,
Our centre claims for them:
Moments of the past, happenings of the presence,
Leaves of thoughts and happiness,
Departures of a small goodbye they are.
And arrivals of a lost paradise they seem.
And they shall be what they are meant to be:
Honourable feelings, pleasant images bright gestures.