breath of time
Who can tell what the time is?
The wind, indeed, is shrilling
That it is even sensitive to ones hearing
Even for closed chamber desolation
It can be felt – the change in air.
A classical symphony
To a throbbing heart is the breeze
That by far has made its homecoming
Hence, bids goodbye by the next second.
Gathering the sands on the feet
A man bottled it up inside him -
Let the sands flow, drowning unto the depths;
Every single speck of time is collected below.
How much longer will it take?
The sun has its mood swings, too,
Picking on the leaves of trees;
Coming to its misty disposition
It rained with the crimson sky.
Succumbing, the tree bled in yellow drops of snow,
Swaying down with gravity as it falls
It leaves musky dicotyledonous coins above,
Outpouring the ground to bring back a life.
A petrified trunk a once seed became
The very last leafed twig cut
Kept to be the man’s bookmark
To what book it was – there is none.
When was it again?
An astrolabe to the sky
Let the man be roofed with skylight;
Fireflies is seen eclipsing at night,
Constellating the sky, like stars, they synchronize.
Even mosses fogged the darkness,
Extending their minute hands to the moon;
Stargazers were reached that they bloom,
Fragile-looking petals are gently bleached white.
Silhouettes of citronella dances against the full moon
With the dragonflies tiptoeing by the pond;
Coral-coloured wings create ripples on water
And flutters away the scent of grass.
It is this very moment, isn’t it?
By the windowsill, the man smelled it,
Mixed odours it brought along its journey -
Salty shores, lane of narra trees, dew of the forest;
The same monsoon but of altered temperature.
Can the scent be seen?
Try detecting it through the human lenses,
Be captured with the sound of the present
Sealing it by holding onto the hourglass of time.
With fervour prayer, let the sky hear:
Cast a spell that time be rewound;
It ain’t for an alternate future – rather
It is to bring back the dreams from yesterday.
Can I now play it forward?
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