Gorvachove, Keonjhar, 29 July 2024
Nothing is ever lost; the pebbled brook–
White graveled, barren, and all season dry,
Suddenly springs to life with July rains;
The windblown seeds that float on summer days,
Like witch’s hair, drop softly on the ground;
Buried in catacombs of earth, they lie–
Almost dead, but not quite: when the rain falls–
They wake from verdant dreams: They were not lost.
Life does not stop: sometimes it stands frozen.
Though all that you have done may seem wasted,
Though delicate dreams have shattered and your heart;
Feels reluctant to leave the broken ruins,
Nothing was lost: your efforts did not fail.
The strongest ice will melt, the sun will shine:
Though love might not find reflection in life–
Yet kindness will meet kindness face to face.
