Unmoving Mountains
Mountains, so stoic
Standing so tall and so grand,
Etched upon the world's memory
As the sole witnesses to the beautiful ballet
Danced by Time
Mountains, so bold
Yet bidding me to move them
To be where I want them to be;
Standing on a timeline
Whose flow accords to the harmony
Of my innocence
Each attempt, though,
Brings me back to the same square
Thereby reminding me
That I am naught but a tiny particle
Faced with their might
For,
Clocks run clockwise
Clocks cannot dance backwards
Clocks control our lifespans, our memories
And even the hurt that we have watered
So well in our secret gardens
That these have bloomed into exquisiteness
Mountains then, shall still be standing after
My presence shall morph into fumes
Mountains shall write of the new ballet shows
That they shall witness
Keeping silent and stoic
As if,
The world's drama is macrocosmic
Even if we all live it at a microcosmic level!
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