When stones begin to speak, they will speak of our love: A poem 

I know I am not an authority on granting verdicts 

But I can say our patience deserves full marks 

That we have left tracks across the universe 

Its memory pangs for our each lifetime, every name 

And I know these oars on the stream were predetermined 

like encrusted emeralds that didn’t lose glitter 

For the roaring, indefatigable fire in my brain 

didn’t dissipate even if it didn’t resolve the rain 

It emblazoned the destined space again and again 

And I always thought I could live like an interstellar meteor 

that eventually finds the constellation of happiness 

I always knew my grief was only strokes of fate 

that in the wake of providence being ever so late, 

I am replete with the wisdom that when it knocks, it doesn’t wait 

And can we know the hand that stills the motion? 

Can we know a clock that knows no time? 

That everything is eternally timeless, as if creation was never created 

And I reckon if stones ever begin to speak, 

if the expanse expands so much it begins to rip, 

they will say that we never lost a single day, 

even if the distance between us seemed to be destiny’s only foreseeable way