The thunder storm shrieks and raged but soon passes by
Choppy seas are now as calm as the still placid lake
Trees ravaged sprouts new shoots while others died
Another day passes as we bid to those with pallid face
Why are we distressed by another facial expression?
Why are we even jarred by another fleeting words?
Isn’t it just another action that will go the way of oblivion?
Imagine it’s in a language as foreign as “sdrow”
People come empty, accumulate plenty, and yet leave everything behind
People fight, kill and hoard, and yet try giving it all away in the end
Time gets killed, wasted and even cursed as it passes, less in bind
Time is empty, relative and almost still when we can’t bear the end
Is the path less traveled, the way to travel in ones journey of life?
Can anyone actually walk exactly the same path as another in a day?
Aren’t there wise and compassionate sages and saviors extolling the way of life?
Yet, everyone are going about life and doing things right, their different ways