Winds of Time

a poem by Inchara

Screen of a new drama unveiled
One instance followed another
Period between series hastened

Artists of past retreated in silence
Action of present spellbound the audience
Directors of future wondered the conclusion

Videos of deeds amass the shelf of mind
Closure of eye takes the journey back in time
Accordance to choice memoirs emerge inline

Incidents none is lost in the stack
Some are dusted, others still fresh
Despair or joy, is just a matter of recall

Why struggle to correct the bygone picture?
Why think hard about the imminent structure?
When the program of present is set ahead

Wind of time never waits for lead
The play continues in its own beat
Screen rolls down at the apt point