Words (1997)
Why does the breeze stir up lifeless grains of sand
The sweltering heat infused into its breath...?
It rouses the sleeping souls of circumstances dead
And fans their burnt out ashes on a burning land.
Events repeat themselves though the wheel moves on
And time brings about its changes unchallenged
This river was once a rocky, dead, dry bed;
And this sandy stretch, a verdant lawn.
The brave warrior of yesterday is now gone
Into the shadows from where he views the fray
He may shut his eyes, in dreams relive his day
But the fact remains that this is another morn.
Why do the leaves rustle in the slightest breeze
Whispering unspoken words of yesterday...?
Making the pensive traveller pause upon his way
To question his aim in a fit of dubeity?
The clock ticks on, the sand grains don't stay their flow
Down the hourglass, and, with time, move, one must
Now leaping to the stars, now falling to the dust
Growing with each step and stepping on with growth.
A fistful of sand, its grains are scattered wide
Change is imminent, you learn from both droughts and floods
An arrow that could pierce, hurt and draw out blood
But yesterday, now merely grazes the scars.
Why does this breeze, this breeze of memories so stir you up?
What do these stinging sandgrains hurting your face say?
Don't the rustling leaves tell you that even today
There is a friend somewhere in this wild world...?
Copyright © Abitha Seshadri | Year Posted 2010
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