photocredit:stylonica.com
Howsoever far soars the bird
It has to return to its nest in time…
Like a wandering nomad roams through
Yet tents in places at a specific time…
As a traveler,
the soul voyages on earth
before its assimilation with divine…
When the azure turns dark
and the leaves shrivel in autumn time
Or the flowers which bloom in spring
and seasons change
The moment of realization is predestined.
soumyav 