Sign of the Times

Penning down all my pensive thoughts

Towards the last chapter and the nib breaks, 

A gust of wind sweeps all the pages away

To the upfront barren terrain of nothingness. 

I kick a stone out of frustration and utter angst.

Eventually getting to the backyard mini-garden; 

My green friends calming me down to roots, 

The peacock blossoming all its feathers to dance, 

A small sting by a baby bee hinting me of the next.

 

The clouds were gathering up again,

Reincarnating the harsh sweeper winds,

Blowing in the opposite way this time, 

Bringing back few pages with muddy dirt to the porch,

Hardly readable or consumable, almost wasted. 

The hardcover, “Book of You and I” never returned, 

Not neatly, neither muddy, nor torn in halves. 

It just disappeared into the land of nothingness, 

And that for me, was the sign of the times to let go.