Days move to new nights,
The nights give way to fresh mornings,
The tiny buds bloom into pretty flowers,
Pages begin to tear in the old books,
Wooden assets swell and decay,
Wrapped objects yield a musty smell,
One season makes way for another,
People enter our lives by luck,
Is it by chance or by destiny?
But they leave without our consent.
Nothing lasts in this world,
Each scene shifts undoubtedly.
No mortal has a permanent home,
They arrive, perform and depart.
Life is simply a transient phase,
It’s a movie that lasts for a few years,
Or it can wrap up in a few minutes.
The one steadfast friend in our life,
Who is that, by the way?
It ought to be the memories.
They never change their style,
Though they get replaced by new ones.
The older ones get pushed back,
Sometimes to the faraway corner.
We do not have control over memories:
They are not solely in our hands,
We can only recall their sole presence.
Memories and memories,
They arrive unexpectedly,
Far from an unknown land,
What do they bring along?
Are they sweet or sour images?
Will we feel nostalgic?
Can it play havoc in our life?
Let memories linger there,
Best placed in memory frames,
Why store them in our minds?
We should learn to feel good,
With images or without them.
The day will pass without a hitch,
Let the visions continue as daydreams.
