Season

The arid flow of wind in summer,
is the vacuum I feel in your absence.

The fallen leaves by wind in autumn,
is the be-gone days of ours in wrangle.

The dampened smell of wind in monsoon,
is the pebbly eye of yours in love.

The fragrant fly of the wind in spring,
is the revered days of love we have.

As this wind blows carrying the scent of season,
I fly ahead carrying the sweetness of your touch.

I pass through seasons, the begot of time,
and I live through spirit, the flower of love.