Time leaves all behind
on the sepia pages of bygone wynds
What was saved from those burning infernos
comes out victorious from the ordeals of time.
I held those classic fragments of the yore
landed on my heart, coeval with the crimson bosom of times,
The fragments, so ugly coldrife, forsooth
which, initially, seemed glossy in my dreams.
What ended, ended…
Nathe-less, I am hitherto holding it close to my essence,
I slaughtered my dreams on the altar of time
and kept my past alive, perennial, in my conscience.
Should I drag the chilled carcass of my past till tomorrow
and blame the sorrows which came along?
My past and sorrows, as inseparable as if caged in wedlock,
how skillfully they kill each other like diphthongs!
Each of my sorrows waited for a new morrow
for their Ecdysis…to be rejuvenated in a jocund tomorrow,
Today is that morrow, laced with my overtly oxidized past
tinged with those russet-pink sorrows.
Stale they are, but happy I am!
My future would be free from the undead past,
I need not drag it till tomorrow
as I’ve learned how to squash the pink out of the rust.
Today, I am present in the middle of Time
and I know, timelessness is just a myth,
Every speck of Past, Present and Future
shall crash in its chips.
*********
Amidst those orderly Sunups and Eventides, there are countless slices of time, spontaneous, unforced… It’s up to us whether to discard them as autumn leaves, fallen and rotten…or… let them fall in our laps…adorn them as bits of Aurum…
Not merely us, the humans are transient, even the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars are fading in the boundless sky. Only time is stable despite its being a constantly moving wheel…It’s anchored in the vast ocean yet flowing with the waves…
Chronos, the Greek god of time is eternity, so is Shiva, our very own Mahakal, the eternal truth, the god of time and death…
I am just trying to grab a speck of time of my share…trying to hold the sky of my share in my fist…a moment before Cronus devours me…As the Greek myth says, Cronus ate all his children the moment they were born, to ensure his safety.
The featured image of this post is a painting by my sister, the late Vineeta Mishra.
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