Seasons change as the beat of a silent drum, in and out of things.
We take in fresh rain but cannot tell it's effect is for all it brings.
Times and seasons of life's natural rhythm of cycles keep changing.
Radical events can effect seasonal and human cycles rearranging.
Truth has an opposite or counterfeit to the nobler 'True Destiny.'
Being in tune takes divine intervention for redemption's eternity.
Life's cycles, rhythms, vibrations, and waves seem to elude us.
Repetitive patterns, for some, are memorably etched without fuss.
Say as in first time interdictions, last words said or rather not.
Indians thought it best to be one with their surroundings, a lot.
But the 9-to-5 scenarios have robbed us smelling just one rose.
We just by the hour and not by seasons, rarely knowing our foes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem