Rocks..

Magnanimous and meagre are rocks,
Mute but gazing for ages the time passing by.
Enjoying the sun and burning surfaces,
From drowning in waves to causing the havoc,
They support the growth of life and also becomes the face of death for some.
Not just seasons but they have seen the journey of civilization,
Every single one is real and gives some food for imagination.
For an artist they are the muse, shades of life,
For a homeless, rocks are the roof above the head,
they may also be the source of bread.
They grow with their pace,
Gazing at the some leaves a mark of solace.
No race to fight and win.
Each one is unique, but also alike.
Nothing but simply obeserving the pace of life.

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