Signs Of Season Poem by Gunardi Santoso

Have you not known the signs of season: the turbulence of change and reason?
Once it was quiet, waiting to be blown. Once It was attached, waiting to be flown.

A difference is what it’ll achieve. A perfection of nature’s manifestation.
It is written and it is not. It is (might) forgotten but it must not.

Have you bewitched of snow storm on May? Such as a joyful song with too many minor chords.
When you start listening to the whispering breeze of tomorrow; can’t event proclaim what is joy or sorrow.

Once in our lifetime a thick landscape evolved into something austere. No angular to be found in every corner after it was twisted to an unsettled pattern. A purpose soon became obscene and severe.

Have you ever regret the dynamic pulse of life itself: that the world is revolving each and every second?
So the story goes beyond the beyond. And what is up turns upside down.

What is left for us are options: to stand still and do nothing or to move and do something.
What is left after options are conditions: it can be gasping or breathtaking.

Conditions lead to options to create another conditions. Either way time won’t stop running, yet ours will.