Change

The sun goes red and slowly sinks in the West. I sigh an extended breath after a long-day suffocation of my own volition. I choose to rebuke Time for its stagnancy, The Time, but, embraces me in its engulfing spiral. I gauge it from the pages in history: The whirlwinds are but the sighs of the sinking sun–– A bright flash of the dying light! After so much a wait the pages read the same Darkness–– My truth, my reality. And these days I fear the Broad Day Light. Scary mornings come with another whirlwind, It rages and rocks, It shakes the foundation. Aah! But it all is a rising vapour in the morning tea cup.