Nights Blossoming the Falling-Petalled Past

A succession of ages,
Each foolishly believing
The succession of ages

Is declining. Now and then,
A demented age sports faith
In the triumph of progress.

Those beliefs never last long—
Enough things start to go wrong
In any age to knock them down.

Other ages, some places,
Settle for eternity,
Change as pure cyclicity,

But then the season they choose
To believe is the current
Is always the last yuga,

The Kali age before things
Turn the wheel to get better
And start blossoming again.

If there’s any decline here,
It could be from no ages
To some ages, but don’t tempt

Yourselves with any Edens.
The world opens what’s inside
To say hello then goodbye.