I sit at my desk upon my birthday,
It feels like every other day
Which I have lived
And has passed away.
It is now a quarter of a century:
Two decades done and half
Since my first breath;
I wonder how many breaths do I have left.
But, when I think about stuff like this
It is like thinking about the unknowable abyss.
And life, nature and human ways
Carry me away from despair and towards more days.
Reflecting on the life I have had,
I sit now, feeling more indifferent than sad.