When the season moves on and on,
We ripen as fast as impulse move,
From infantile pigeon to exquisite dove,
And then we perish without a move.
There I stand the nascent fruit,
Exhibiting apparel of chloro suit.
Guarding angels as cherubic birds,
An atmosphere of innocence all around.
Cuddling with my tall branched mom,
Hanging down to the valley of mirth.
In the mirror of time, I saw myself,
A newly born wrapped with care.
When lashes fall and block our views,
We take no notice of the flashes we lose.
Same as life kept on to carry,
And my face kept on to vary.
The mischievous valley called again:
“Hey, a little mango, wanna play!?”
Now in the mirror of time, I saw myself,
A newcomer to my reflection
Now I’m in a new golden form,
The only crowned from all other farms.
Sweetness and freshness full of life,
A bouncy youth with day’s fresh.
The syrupy scent is all that I could smell,
It transformed my thoughts into evergreen ones.
I proudly exhibited my royal gown.
Oh! The charmed and charming one!
Suddenly passes the wind with a wild gesture,
Pushed me into the group so deep.
Oh! Where did I lose my granite crown!?
Oh! When did I become this granny brown!?
I tried to refresh my utmost fit,
I tried to wake up from this dreadful dream,
And then in the mirror of time, I saw myself to realize
“That if wasn’t a short dream but a short life!”