[ poem  ]

All our lives, orchestrated by
the profound rhymes of nature -
we keep hearing them -
calling by its name, of different kinds,
we lament.

Time and again, we wish things to stay
calm and simple, but it happens, not always.
We cannot help it.

Surreal emotions keep rolling on us
in the memory frames,
when we look at ourselves;
how we are getting older
day by day,
and not being the same.

In the course, we often fail to be us,
and end up being someone else.

We take self-love for granted,
and leave self-doubt to navigate us,
to most of the dark places in our minds.

We can help it, though
I say it to myself.