you wish you never had a fence at all

on the other side of the fence
is what we do not own

we stay inside what we call our territory
this self, this house, this garden, this dog

inside this territory is also our own time
which we try to keep on holding but they

are all sands they keep on slipping
like the whispers to our ears that keep

on fading as though it is not just sound but
a painting in our mind or a canvass which

has turned yellow because you never put
anything like a line of hope or a stroke of

luck or a brush of paint with a hush of
expectations. I too pause in the silence of

a comma, much to the disgust of something
final like a dot. Be there on the dot, he says.

words flow like air, when you try seeing it
they become water like tears, you taste the

salt of other person's existence as though
they have turned into a sea of impressions.

on the other side of the fence is what
we want to know because they always

appear greener. Then we jump there and
of course find the disappointments of previous

comparisons. I like to go back. I want to jump
again and reclaim what territory i have:that self,
that house, that dog, that garden, that face.

but they have all become sands of time. Slipping.
Gone and you wish you never had a fence at all.