I dream of a life that has only love,
I dream of a life that will make me glad,
But the goal of my dream is blocked
By the cycle of walks of life on real blooms,
As life is not full of fantasy and dream,
I meet real passage on the floor.
I meet a masked man on the shore,
He makes sand art works of specific forms,
All are washed away with flow of tides,
I see four words are written, these follow –
Background, transformation, division, formation -
I read cell cycles are blood bound, plight of life.
The man sometimes vanishes in the mist,
I learn to walk on own way in the transit,
Step by step, moment after moment, I walk past
That formation of my life’s journey in search,
With my dependence to the kith and kin,
Tossed in wave formation over age and time.
After sometime, I find few children are playing,
They are making sand dune on the sea shore,
They are more accurate with passion and love,
I feel my act has got turns, it is like recruitment,
Of our old life on the new comers’ concern,
It is an inevitable occurrence, over time and age.
Life has a phase, life has a shape, and life has an aim,
To bring forth inheritance to move in time’s scale,
All revelations of life is not fulfilled in one life tenure,
Many symptoms of love has to play
In the share and tear game on the dependence,
Breathing and living are two last words remaining in game.