Koi kehta hai waqt badal raha hai,
toh koi kehta hai bhaag raha hai.
Koi aanewale waqt ke intezaar mein hai,
toh kisika waqt dhal raha hai.
Waqt ki har chaal ko naapne walo, waqt toh bas guzar raha hai.
seconds are outgrowing minutes,
minutes are distracting hours,
hours are tiring days,
days are reducing months to weekends,
months are forgetting seasons amd stealing years,
years are comsuming your life,ageing you,
you think you can control life with reminders amd alarms
It is rushing all around us.
At traffic signals, in trains, in disconnected calls, in seen but unanswered messages.
The only time we happen to slow it is the snooze button in alarms and reminders.
As if time whizzing past wasn't enough, we also see it running in circles on the breadth of wrist. Our eyes sort of chase those hands leaving the body and mind.
“time flies.. time heals..”
it just picks up your baggages,
freezing them as memories.
“time doesn’t wait..time never remains the same..”
it greets you the first time with a bye,
and before you recognize, leaves behind a teary eye.
“time is ticking..time is money..”
time given is experience traded,
moments wasted are wisdom evaded.
rooted to past,
leaning towards future,
an orphaned present losing way.
sand was slipping through the fist,
the creases webbing the palm,
had decieved the destiny,
dreams waiting in depths,
saw the sand escape,
scarred fists learnt,
time never returns,
to merge in dunes,
be picked up by another insane,
thinking time can be held to ransom…
minute by minute clock consumes me,
long hand slaps amd short hand consoles me,
snatching away years,
leaving me with an ever increasing number,
my heartbeats never match the tick tock speed,
as if body is trying to outrun time left,
will i perish before my age,
or a handful of breathtaking moments are still awaiting me….
time consumes you,
while memories fail to die,
nostalgia appears real,
present a masked lie….
a temporary was permenant in some moment,
before feeting into oblivion,
it tried filling a minute,
with 60 seconds of everything in hand,
emptying itself before perishing,
no time to think the missing,
though it’s life would be just a blurry biography in retrospect