Muzahidul Reza Poet Quatern

Time, Aim and Action

Time at its self speed is rolling down
You are still wrapped in winter gown, 
To leave the station train is whistling on
You are still long far from the station; 

Spring, summer are passing around
Time at its self speed is rolling down
Conscious people are in their field 
For cultivating they are preparing land; 

You are passing time in unknown whim
Without developing your main aim, 
Time at its self speed is rolling down
But you are involved in well nothing; 

During fall you have got your field clear
Now eagerly waiting for coming winter
Without pleasure more you do nothing
Time at its self speed is rolling down.

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