Hello December

I wish I had not grown up, my father.. and I see the train of exile curl up like a lost black cat between the roads of two villages separated by the ruins of an old bridge for return.. a fat cat waiting for someone to open a door for it.. sheltering from December's snow.. shaking off the accumulated snow on its back.. walking burdened with cold silence... imprinting its footprints on a closed mail for a thousand years.. waiting for someone to embrace it on its rocking chair. and enjoying its tired purr.. and waking up late.. so that the long December nights pass.. to the ticking of the cursed Huzayboun clock.