Again

The stream of life is at its flux
The magic of wind cannot be said
I amuse when I silently observe within
And I laugh when I see without

I heard a word that was never said
I felt what was not properly conveyed
I wait for something I know its there
I should not, warned my fears

Still the wishes and desires
Are walking this turmoil
I am not able to shut them inside
They are just growing out of this soil

This little dream that we nourish
Has ground but wants some sky
And there it opens the wings
And has will to fly high

It has to pass the ridges and falls
The whitest and the browns
It touches all it crosses
And increases as it engulfs all

Each day looking the world from where it stands
The beauty of its soul is lost in disguise
Being dead many times and alive again
Want to take harder this time !!!!