6 views
THE EX-CHANGE
Till the north becomes south,
Till the rain becomes ice,
Leaves fall and goats feed,
Shoes worn to warm the soles,
A stranger becomes a familiar,
Brothers grow apart bonding with others;
So, it's a game of rolling dice,
Sometimes six, sometimes six twice;
It may be called luck,
Or it may the expert's hands;
Surely, the good and the not
Stay side by side as though an angle
Or a swing-lo going up and down
Fro and to the sun, dazzling up there.
Whether you are at your Dawn
Or dusk sets upon your time
Keep walking and settle not
Upon a moment
For daily the exchange continues
Till the tick-tock is heard no more.
© prandyada
Till the rain becomes ice,
Leaves fall and goats feed,
Shoes worn to warm the soles,
A stranger becomes a familiar,
Brothers grow apart bonding with others;
So, it's a game of rolling dice,
Sometimes six, sometimes six twice;
It may be called luck,
Or it may the expert's hands;
Surely, the good and the not
Stay side by side as though an angle
Or a swing-lo going up and down
Fro and to the sun, dazzling up there.
Whether you are at your Dawn
Or dusk sets upon your time
Keep walking and settle not
Upon a moment
For daily the exchange continues
Till the tick-tock is heard no more.
© prandyada
