who am I to show those visions?

Who am i to show you those
little flakes of morning's gold
falling and covering up a strawladen hut
who am i to show you that?

an old locomotive arriving from the west
people descending with bags and huge suitcase
and a cartman greasing his cart's wheel
his face blackened and smile on his face still...
a crow perched on a tin roof
witnessing bedlam arriving throwing dust by horse's hoofs...
a little boy running through
the cloud of white smoke
the locomotive into the derelict station blew...
a range of distant overlooking hills
the gradual change of a village's trance like feel...
the transcendence of civilisation
from serene stillness to a busy motion...
but who am i to put them into you?
these visions on my heart grew...
over the years...the passage of history...
a peepul tree with leafy mystery...
summers,winters,springs and autumns...
an anthology of laughter and tears...
human struggles with arrows and spears...
and also of nature's pristine best
a settlement by His providence blessed...
but who am I to show these?

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