The matchstick is kindled and I dwindle at the thought of meeting my end,
as nothing is permanent and has  to be sent.
Nothing was yours as it was lent.

Life is nothing but an enjoyment of delusion
seldom have you heard this been told,
so intensely think and do not be so bold
to amuse everything that is being told.

You do not see but it is a heavy load,
so be more kind than you are cold.
For everything has to wither and grow old,
surely seldom have you heard this been told

O traveller, when will you return to the origin of your being?
Reality is what you are and a reverie is what you have been.

Your similitude is to the moon with its varying phases,
ever luminous but with lasting traces.

It is the origin from where you started and it is where you will ever arrive,
though it is a thing mysterious but you have never failed to strive.

So I ask O traveller, have you earned for what you strived?
Be content O stranger, for to the origin I have arrived.

Raindrops drops with each sound,
on the hills , mountains and mounds.
Though it is wet and dripping,
Nature has its own way of freaking.

I hear the thunderclap and saw lightning,
truth be told it was a little frightening.
I closed the windows and felt secure,
the rain stopped trapping me into a lure.

What i saw later was an element of
surprise,
For what I saw was a lightning in disguise.