Is it not a wonder, once I write you, the words air owns,

Is it not a wonder,
Once I write to you,
Words arranging by thoughts,
After a lot of burning of candle wicks,
They never stick?
They take wings
And fly,
First to you perhaps,
Then with time lapse,
They float further
By the air,
To unknown, untraveled worlds,
To chapters unwritten,
To horizons of unsavoured skies
Where their destiny lies...
Is it not a wonder
That every day we immortalise us?
You, me,
And our destiny,
In such a lovely way,
That no one can actually say,
Where exactly we hold us,
Is it not a wonder,
That we just celebrate us?
Our birth,
Our life,
Thus.