Falcon's Ode

Contouring the highways, they stood; 

And swayed with every gust of wind 

that was splashed onto their face, 

As the cars raced and chased.

What do cars chase? 

The fleeting view of the ever standing spectators; 

Or the tail of the rainbow: 

a mirage that bisects the face of crimson offing?

Is life a Fibonacci sequence, 

Of moments touched and to be touched? 

Or in a palindrome shaped in 

the silhouette of a sinusoidal curve?

Maybe, life is a series of moments 

that are tied to wings of a falcon in flight. 

Else, why'd it fade at first sight?

Maybe life is a soap bubble of moments 

Which when touched, in the wink of the eye

Morphs moments into memories; 

Faces into photographs

Maybe, life is all about the few moments 

When our hands continue to waltz in the ballroom 

engraved underwater 

Of the fleeting stream of time

In the eternity of universe and space, 

What does the fleeting pace of time chase? 

That moments, alike the stream of water, 

slips through web spaces of mortal hands.

Segregating time into hours, days and years, 

Or stalking calendars of bygone years, 

are but futile endeavors of the mortals, 

To catch a sight of falcon in flight.

Probably, life is all about embracing the moments, 

Before the views lose all its hues, 

And the landscapes turn into polaroid's, 

Only to be locked in the monochrome city of imagery