the human race

and gravity is just a word
that some old scholars overheard
and turned into eternal code for failing

and the sunset is just a mirage
that makes its way into your mind
and tries to set its limits on your sailing

and mountains are just earthen rows
for tired feet to stand below
and despair at the magnitude of climbing

but tiny steps make larger roads
cross deeper seas in bigger boats
till there is no longer distance left to travel

before you’re home
that place you left so long ago
before you’re home

and science is just taking notes
on dances between chemicals
whose dalliances configure all your beauty

and lonely’s just the space between
the intermission in your dreams
the time between your breaths when you’re not living

but there’s a painting standing quiet
as everybody rushes by
and never stops to wonder why she’s smiling

but all of her contented grace
comes from her stillness in the race
her solitude and peace with what they’re chasing

they’re just running home
where hands are warm and faces glow
just running home
kindness alleviates the cold

just running home
they won’t realize till they arrive
that they were running home
for all this time

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