Change, we see it sometimes as a dear friend
sometimes as an enemy strange.
For we welcome it with open arms
when it’s invited
And shun it away when it comes unannounced.
The metamorphosis of the caterpillar to a butterfly
Is a beautiful natural phenomenon, we say.
Yet, we try so hard, for our old age to be delayed.
We admire the beauty of a bud turning into a rose
But toss it away, when it changes again and decays.
We rejoice when friends become lovers,
but call it a tragedy when they go back to just friends again.
When an intricate pot is breathed to life, from nothing but clay
We marvel at the potter’s handiwork
But when it shatters to pieces, it causes us dismay.
Even though, it began its life as mud from the earth
And ended it there again.
We see the beauty in fall, in auburn leaves and fiery trees
We see the beauty in the bloom of spring.
Yet, we feel sorrow, when the seasons of life change.
Why, I ask, do we rejoice in the birth of a child
Birth of a creation from nothing,
And talk so sorrowfully of death?
For we started as nothing, and return to it at once
Like a traveler returning home at night,
who feels no fright.
Pray tell, why then are we such hypocrites when it comes to change?
© Sneha Pathak