Mind soaked with what might have been:
People unmet, places unseen
While the night drips like innocent blood
Leaving memory-stains on the worn rug
The sky too, holds no answer
But then, it is merely in transfer
Between forever and eternity:
A shifting wind points nowhere
Brittle-white with fatigue the leaves drop
Their flower-sisters have long gone:
Delicate sacrifices to the merciless flow
Of life and death and of high to low
The mountain stands silent, stoic
Frantic movement is beneath it
It waits for the unstoppable force
To atomise it back to life as dust
And yet, Man rushes about, wailing
Failing to grasp his essential irrelevance
Grasping for symbols of permanence
While they are all around him
Content in their fleeting beauty!
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