All we have is now;
death seems foul,
as it is far away…
No need to prowl;
your search begins,
and ends here:
While it is moving, away from us it runs.
It blows with a shot like a gun…
Fast and fleeting!
Flowing and disappears as it is slowly steaming.
Like mist in July!
To come back like a boomerang.
Thirsting for more of now, with your lips dry!
Like water, to whom it is drained…
Our consciousness makes sense of now.
Because all that we truly have is now.