Its been long since this was taken. It will always be long from that moment. It has been still and unshaken, With time passing never losing its scent. The paper which was blank once, Has colours of life from the past; Smiles, joy and other feelings in tons, All captured in a moment very fast. It is reminiscence of the old time; Of those days, of those years sublime, Its not just one moment in prime, But linked are other memories chime. Its been long since this was taken. It will always be long from that moment; The photograph in the hand still maiden, Though old and faded yet without a dent.
A clean empty white paper, Looks beautiful, empty, peaceful bearer. If written good, it shines the words, If painted good, it befriends the colours. What if written horribly poor? Beauty dies like dying flower, What if painted bad with squirting brush? It can bring anyone a red flush. Its always the white paper which bears, The action of the writers or painters feelings and fears, Which could have been the same old, Beautiful, lovely, peaceful white gold. Some say life as a white paper, They even know about this dapper, Still just play seriously funny, May be thrown into the dustbin tummy. Some lived the white paper sweetly deserved, Their names then written on the white paper preserved .
Being born was a matter of coincidence,
With that the life began,
And it grew to the adolescence,
Which felt the beginning of toughness now and then.
Until that all was fun,
Nothing more than a school day naughtiness,
But then feelings came overwhelming in a ton,
And all lost was that sweet childish tenderness.
With adolescence grew the feeling called love,
Searching here as if the reason for sole existence,
While not all but a few were made into the pair of dove,
By that same once again a moments coincidence.
Then came the time for facing the reality,
To live in the world and to earn for living,
Many lost into total anonymity,
As only few coincided with luck to be the supreme being.
Anyhow life went as usual for all,
With failure or success to a small account,
With each living person from tiny to tall,
Thus played the time sitting on the coincidence mount.
And as further processed, in this daily changing world,
Growth made old even the fiercest strength,
To the shelf of even not being able to utter a single word,
When the coincidence of death sat beside the graveyard, on the bench