In the tropical section of the Earth.
There stays a period,
Brimful of sufferings and pain.
That tends to seek,
Any and all drop of blood .
Then the time has chosen a turn,
And brought in a moderate silence,
after a prolonged omnipresent violence.
And those living greens have initiated,
to meet their browny-hopeless-death.
The life centric sun hath softened,
his spears into sheen.
And the bath forcing wind,
has lost its fury for
a celebration of this temporary victory.
Landscape frequently fluctuates.
All livings are busy
for the preparation to face,
the undecorated music of silence.
But, wait something is missing.
Where pace of life is slow.
Feel yourself, feel others,
far away , feel environment,
How is it?.
“…The dry wind blows,
with an essence of chill,
and brings a short shiver in.
The fragrance of nature,
seems a little smoky. … ”
“…The vision is a bit hazy,
though those flowers are illuminating,
With little drops from heaven.
The life is going slow,
but the twilight has gone prompt.
“…In the midst of the ebullience chatter,
there are interrupting calls.
– stop your play -come back.
Then it all stops,
the shadow has conquered over.”
“Now, the celestials,
are the only reminiscence,
cool as the hub of icicles.
Not a word nor a chirp,
Not a coo nor any chatter.”
“Why is it so un-sung,
un-felt, un-seen, un-cared?
The gates that binds
– the two mirrored weathers
– the pace-ful life and peaceful death.”