To leave the station train is whistling on
You are still long far from the station;
Spring, summer are passing around
Time at its self speed is rolling down
Conscious people are in their field
For cultivating they are preparing land;
You are passing time in unknown whim
Without developing your main aim,
Time at its self speed is rolling down
But you are involved in well nothing;
During fall you have got your field clear
Now eagerly waiting for coming winter
Without pleasure more you do nothing
Time at its self speed is rolling down.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza| 5 December,2017