We toil and sweat,
To see that things are made,
Only to find that
The universe moves against us,
To make us win against its blade,

That time is ample, yet articulate
For those only who feel,
It’s a wish about to come true,
And a wound only to heel,

Though it is in the same space,
That we and our future exists,
We have to connect to the picture,
That was once scene,
Coz  before it was scene,
It existed.