i have mostly sat and gazed at the brilliance of scene around
who might have wandered over there?
in the calligraphy of the time
in the dust of times
the traces profound
if i can keep at it
the heights were lows too
Nobody knows from where the morning comes,
But it comes, every day.
All seasons ,Any weather. Sun , No Sun whatever.
It takes over the skies, wraps it almost with its colors.
And,it keeps moving- fading and showing up almost back everyday.
Till it lasts.then.