You may run like
A charging bull.
From place to
Place.
People to people.
Over the fence,
Over the fate.
But eventually
All things end.
There will be
A bend.
No-one left to
Lend you ears.
To douse your fears.
Nothing will be
Left to look back.
And ahead there
Will not be a
Simple, straight track.
From a kid who
Just learnt to talk
To the granny who
Vents ghastly
Laughs.
The galaxies in
The far-fetched skies
To the quarks in
The depth of an atom.
The bull on run
Needs to gasp.
And eventually
Everything needs
To halt.
A bullet that has
Left a gun to a
Flower that just
Lured its hunt.
A second has
To eat an hour.
A day has to
Subsume a year.
The rage in your
Haughty eyes to
The mellow memory
Of her rose scented
Smile.
From the faded pic
You hold between
Your guilt and
Prayers.
To the life you've
Built in colorful
Layers.
Your revolution will
Turn around.
Plan will fall will
Fall apart.
And as you run out
Of breath and
Wait for a gasp..
Eventually,
There will be a bend.
And everything will
Come to an end.
..
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