Few droplets of rain, dynamics of nature
At times, bemused by its own makings
The human heart, dynamics of nature,
At times, revealed by its own makings
Strange fusion of matter and mind,
Like silver plates with displaced potions
Of fruits, objects and few uninteresting things
Like lingering darkness and sound of rain.

Moments in conflict of interest, speak
Dynamics of nature but nothing of those
Murmurs, of hate and anger, stood
Like monuments of rock and sand, still
Unheard, unseen and untouched
The alchemist hand and its perfection
Organs of fire, now assumed shapes &
Objects of mere pleasure and viewings
As one were planetary object, promised
To return in distant future, but remain
Those ghosts of pain, like still life
Always present, in motion with chants
Of those times and era, almost gone
Prisoner its image, killer its reflection

Kashkin

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