Tired of wearing my armour,
I rest careless on this wooden chair,
No care for winners or losers
But only for safe guardians
Of the everyday life.
Another day is over
With no fresh scars on my body
But invisible dry marks
Close to the heart.
I grow patience
Your patience as an armour
Bounces the unfair words
And fields your dim light inside.
I Grow my patience
With dreams and ambition
In places others cannot see.
Patience resists and empowers
Leaving the space to think
Privately.
