We living on a borrowed time.

We are echoes in a fading hall,

ghosts humming in the throat of silence,

dancing on seconds that aren’t ours to keep —

our laughter, a fragile rebellion

against the ticking that never sleeps.

The sun lends us its light,

but even daylight asks for it back;

our breaths are debts we pay in whispers,

each inhale — a promise,

each exhale — a surrender.

We build homes on shifting sands,

dreams carved in dust and heartbeat,

as if the storm will forget our names.

But time —

time remembers everything.

It watches from the corners of our eyes,

aging us in half-truths and reflections,

turning our yesterdays into rust,

our futures into smoke.

Still we love,

still we fight the dying light —

knowing the end was written

long before the first dawn.

And when the silence finally comes

to collect what we borrowed,

may it find us unafraid —

burning, not fading,

alive even in the taking.

The Luo Poet | Poetically Speaking & Writing .