The Change

Of many things,

You are the picture I see

From my dusty window pane

Brownish straw leaves, old, elegant

The hay that smells of tomorrow

Misty white snow from

A fallen cloud piece

A stream confused,

of an untold path. 

Of many things,

You are  a Disrupted wind,

Aimless tide in a wuthering height

The wildest tale with a never ending quest

Stolen glance, a smile so foolishly slipped

A secret prophecy or the 

Termites savouring it. 

Of all things,

you remind me of earth

But not just the green poetic one,

The damp deep moist one,

The one merge of pure wood dust

And ashes of grey,

Soaked with the drizzle

of a monzood wind. 

Of all things, you remind me

We are nothing but the same 

A mere thought,

A philosophy

A verse Of the soil. 

You remind me of not a singular piece,

You are a season, the change

You are my remembrance.

You are what happens.

We are many.

©p.k.s.v.