Dedication:To all the mortals to remind that our lives are like the subjects of cruel Autumn.There is no spring as vivid as for nature yet we live intact life after life.
The selfish autumn when fate gives it a life
Takes away worth of existence.
Those ornaments of nature,
Along the thickets
Along the streets
Along the high ways
Along the rivers
When the curse of nature befall on them
Like a thunder
The departure marks
The farewell of gorgeous life:
The reign of silence and
The appearance of ugliness,
Albeit for short term, songs
Of absence of the soul of nature
Rings beep deep in our ears and
Nothing but when spring
comes next,world becomes golden brimmed again.
Takes away worth of existence.
Those ornaments of nature,
Along the thickets
Along the streets
Along the high ways
Along the rivers
When the curse of nature befall on them
Like a thunder
The departure marks
The farewell of gorgeous life:
The reign of silence and
The appearance of ugliness,
Albeit for short term, songs
Of absence of the soul of nature
Rings beep deep in our ears and
Nothing but when spring
comes next,world becomes golden brimmed again.
Our life bears its duplication,
When season changes from time to time,
And devil autumn rules the world
The death with its sack
Bait the snare
To abduct the immortals
Away to the strange place.
Like the dress of nature
We shed our breathe and fade
Into nothingness and
Our presence become a history.
Unlike the spring that gives life back to the nature
There is no vivid season in mortals
Unless when prophesy reveals
Another birth of our soul
We remain nowhere.
Yet we shall live in history,
In memories
In legends
And life after life;
Unlike the nature's green
we survive in books and pages.
We survive in the virtues
we painted the summer for myriad lives.
Yet we shall never hear our own history
Nor will we narrate ours own.
When season changes from time to time,
And devil autumn rules the world
The death with its sack
Bait the snare
To abduct the immortals
Away to the strange place.
Like the dress of nature
We shed our breathe and fade
Into nothingness and
Our presence become a history.
Unlike the spring that gives life back to the nature
There is no vivid season in mortals
Unless when prophesy reveals
Another birth of our soul
We remain nowhere.
Yet we shall live in history,
In memories
In legends
And life after life;
Unlike the nature's green
we survive in books and pages.
We survive in the virtues
we painted the summer for myriad lives.
Yet we shall never hear our own history
Nor will we narrate ours own.
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