No one need to hear the sound of the chains to know they are slaves, no one needs emptiness around to feel solitude as the hearts of stone clash with each other, tick-tack...tick-tack...

I see around inside a room without walls
can’t reach its ceiling because it’s too high
but the floor are covered with little pieces
which once were together, the body of Time.

Moved my left foot and heard a little crunch,
the seconds are so tiny almost invisible like
but being equipped with so short pair of legs
for not to be stepped over can’t run very fast.

Minutes you can see and even hear all of them
running like glass marbles reflecting sunlight,
never colliding with each other, yet they were
sixty of them together what made a whole hour.

Hours, yes, of those you should tread with care,
they can be like all roses thorns, very very sharp,
whose pain you will never forget even if you wish
because to remind you of it you will wear the scar.

The floor is full of pieces in a room without walls
with many shadows representing sorrowful nights
and a scattered broken mirrors for every each year
when you weren’t looking forward but to the past.

Around me are all those little pieces like when
a clock burst open dispersing all over me its insides,
leaving me not the owner of hours I had chosen, but
standing in a room without walls with a broken Time.