The dull regret of reality
and the boredom of truth.
Where are all the dreams?
Where is the joy
and fascination of the vivid
imagination of hundred years ahead.
Where did science fiction
and Isaac Asimov go?
Why don't I think
about stars anymore?
Did Pluto actually lose
its planet status?
Was that the latest
news about space?
How about the quantum mechanics
and pulsars?
The little universe
where I used to travel
faster than light has disappeared.
Mundane tasks and fleeting moments
of joy have taken its place.
Where did the enormous appetite for books go?
Reality is interesting
in its own way.
It proves my relevance.
When death comes,
it doesn't matter
how many ideas I had.
What matters is how many
I have implemented.
