Four Seasons

Born was I to the sound of strings,

The song of the wind and the promise of Spring,

Drops of innocence, the woollen comfort of parents,

Life held so many bliss, blossoming of a bud to the rain filled puddles.

Equally rapturous were the weeds and the rose,

Such is the gift of the child, touched by the wand of Lord.

Grew up, to many notions and ideas;

Written on the blank slate, with fervour of youth,

And arrogance of heady dreams.

In the season of Summer,

Were scant regard was to impossibility,

For high were we on life itself,

Amidst lack of experience and shifting sands of time.

Danced in the Rain, for we ruled our world;

Then clouds of uncertainty came upon us.

Started seeking the meaning of losing and loving,

Looked at the falling leaf, while tears welled in the eyes.

The eternal question: why me, had no answer;

Money lost the index of happiness.

Knowledge we had, but wisdom was still lurking

At the door,

Waiting for the crack of light, the acceptance of sunset.

That what was past, is a memory cherished with a smile,

And the gratitude that it happened,

One was finally growing up.

Now the mirror reflects crow eyes and wrinkles,

The Winter of solitude is upon us.

The music still plays, but only reminiscent of the past,

The house which was a home, now lost in the mist of Nature;

For we pass gently into the night,

The Winter is upon us.