the clouds know that they have to wither away or pour and die
sooner or later, sooner than later,
whether they wait or whether they hurry
they know they have little control over the matter
we too,
we know we are withering away, we have already poured down our whole contents
we know what is left is only to leave even the little we have and to disappear
still somehow we linger on, on and on, and hope to slow down the inevitable
or sometimes we dream that we could manage to speed up what is to happen at a given pace
but still we try to play God, we try in vain to exert control
അര്ദ്ധരാത്രി പൂവന് കോഴി കൂവിയാലും പ്രഭാതം വരികയില്ല. എല്ലാം അതിന്റെ നേരത്തും കാലത്തും നടക്കും
the day will not dawn earlier just because the rooster raises his trumpet in the midnight
everything will arrive as He decides.
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