Does it matter,
That you know about things in advance,
As they happen,
And yet let them,
Without resisting anything?
Merely witnessing that waves arise on surface of an ocean and subside,
Storms play and clay pots are broken,
The kid looks at sandcastles one last time,
Before moving away from beaches,
The paper boats sink in a zilch,
Pity not the world which never was,
Pity the self which is,
Waiting for its discovery,
Hidden gems come to the surface of consciousness,
As one wakes up from another dream,
And another sleep takes over horizon.