Nature has a beautiful way of saying,
That an experience and a change can be the only constant, as such.
That life on earth moves like a timid yellow lamp,
We breathe the heat of troubles, and we adjust to the newer patterns of the flame.
We try stitching together the tattered tattoo of thoughts and memories, which are lame...

We as characters, underneath the hazy shades of appearance,
tremble at the passing of hunts and hordes,
Sleeping to sweep out the dreams of a thousand years or more.
Nature continues to elude us to the constancy of change,
We rephrase, to repeat the act of movement.

Embracing all what is new today,
Would fade away like fallen leaves,
Change is thus perhaps, the only constant,
In brief.