Sitting by the windowpane, I enjoy the untamed rain.
There, that puddle, messing the drain!
Never will form rain again!
The half-burnt candle won’t be full again!
That broken vase will not be one.
The sea has washed away the lover’s name.
The victory of mighty nations is mere history now.
Great rivers have dried and some changed course.
Wild have walked the earth and are no more.
The Earth is weary and will give up soon.
Yet men continue their reign.
But things cease to be permanent.
And so the children of men.
They’ll soon be the puddle of the rain.
And the agony of their loss will be forgotten.
As indomitable, permanent time shall heal the pain!
So rejoice my friend, listen to your heart,
Live the moment! Catch the running train,
Before you grow to be the puddle of the rain!!
--Ekata Banerjee
