The seemingly short days would become longer,
The light would brighten the once dark dusks,
Soon, the chilly arid breeze would disappear away,
And the warmth of air would rupture the cold dormancy.
The samsaric cycle, therefore would keep rotating,
Every moment is fleeting; the ecstasy, the mundane.
In this vicious cycle, the karmic fate we will entail,
The grief, the pain; the joy, the triumphs; all in one.
The life is a frail beauty of combined elements,
Often assailed by the forces, turbulent and ailing.
Neither the good wishes, nor knows the times of celebrations.
But firmly it would suppress the joy and sicken you.
Yet like the fading of cold days, pain would fade,
Like the coming of spring warmths, joy would come,
In the vicious cycle of impermanence, life will flow,
To see the light, the dark; to feel the pain, the joy.
Life is not a bed of roses.