When this generation would be no more,
with time a generation of the past -
All the love, tears, ego, joy and furore
with time would fade, nothing would last.
Nothing was ever in control here on earth,
the twinings that leads us to certain end -
An unknown journey that started at birth
would at one moment stop at a dark bend.
Often a desert may have cotton clouds -
that will most certainly not ever rain.
The building of hope like the shrouds -
thus move away fleetingly like a crane.
PRASENJIT©2024