When The Sun Goes Down

Even, in the dense forest where the light of modern civilization seldom reach,

The rule of existence is still the same.

One's death is another's life,

One's nectar is another's poison,

One's start of journey is another's final destination.

The arrow must hit the target, for the doors of destiny to open,

The wind blows but knows when to stop,

When monsoon is near, the stream becomes wild,

The dimension of time measures everyone in same light.

And then, with reason, that human mind fail to comprehend,

The same stream dries up,

The land becomes a heap of skeletons.

Love is lost, with the growth of moss and ferns.

As if what was before is just a dream,

Why? asks the lost traveller,

Is my journey to the woods lost in wilderness?

My voice, just became an unfathomable echo.

Or my freedom is truly within locked doors of confinement?

Nature again blooms with rain and vegetation,

 Do we live that long to drink its beauty again?

But, destruction, devastation and catastrophe follows the vicious circle,

What is your prayer,

Is truly a connection, circumstantial and evident,

The wind dictates the arrow to kiss the target only once from inception to end,

So perhaps we live a life, in a period of thousand times,

But die once the sun goes down!