The Time

You don’t bind me with the pain of ages, years and days,

I’d like to fly by the sky, 

To count the clouds and stay,

Bereft of frustrations and desperations and despair:

Would love to sit back on the peaceful feather and fly,

Bereft of isolated suffocations and tears:

Unveiling my soaring hopes and dreams,

To rise high and touch the sky.

I believe to be born every moment,

Rejoicing life and its paces,

Its turns and twists and twirls,

New hopes and dreams reborn too,

The eyes glitter in wonder,

The Cosmo gizmo of the solitude swirls.

What are you awaited to?

What are you awaited for?

You can fall in love with one or more...

The sky can change its attire,

The sea can blush in red,

The moon can eat its own half,

A new bud can take its bloom,

The butterfly can peek and seek for a new rose....

Even a prostitute can get her new home!

The time is relative by its means,

It’s just that we pass by and count,

We are scared and feared to be bound,

We want to stop the hands of the clock going round.

Will that stop everything and eternalise all?

Will that make a stroll of corpse, killing the poisoned world?

Will you be able to what you want to let happen?

Will you not still try to breath and be alive?

We try ... we try to make the things fall in place.

We try to put the end of all in grace.

The time it fetches and moves by the scornful beats,

We count till we leap and our heart beats.