the walking

riddles of time,
the red snow.
Footsteps, on the melting
We have to walk
like such crimes
however deep, or obscure
because we have to walk
that is what we do
No matter if the footsteps will remain
No matter if the snow will melt away

But i feel like laughing on those
who press on too hard
on the snow,
on the naive, playful snow
who cares very little.
To make a mark with their boots
with a temptation to be immortalized

The snow and me,
We watch them,
the fool with the strength and the boots,
while we play carelessly with each other
melting each other,
getting lost,
being and not being
failing the riddles
losing the games.
While they think, they are WINNERS.