The Vanishing Seasons

Unappeased, each season withdraws
to end and drag another season;
acquainting my bygone years
with my present.

There is no still point in my life.
My goals flurry past me,
dissolving my beliefs in a flash.
Unaccomplished, I dwindle.

From full Summer’s end to Spring,
Autumn, then Winter,
my days shorten, my dusky dawns
digging into the sands of time, unabated.

Where, when will my breath stop my step’s stride?
Even the partialities of my most powerful gods
cannot make me learn that,
or, hold back Heaven’s ever-changing pattern.

Geeta Chhabra

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