The End of Time
Looking back at life, before being smothered,
By the ravages of time, which nobody bothered,
To comprehend in the modern age,
And express the exhibition of time so savage.
Time was born of nothing,
Why did it begin with space, nobody can tell,
For why did time begin to swell,
At a time when for our deeds we were to pay.
Life has never been easy, and it never will,
Cease to exist in a form so fragile,
That it can be changed in a manner with such ease,
And time would always be at par with such worries.
Time is a great healer, is what experience tells,
But none can feel the magic that time propels,
To heal our wounds, to absorb our sorrow,
For all, even those who don’t have a tomorrow.
Time once lost, cannot come back, we are told,
But how often are we made to uphold,
The guilt of procrastination, of lethargy, of bubble dreams,
When time in the future itself can’t sustain, it seems.
Friends will come and friends will go,
But time has neither a friend nor a foe,
People often think that they’re alone,
But time should more than them be forlorn.
Time, like us, is also transient,
And like birth, its death is also magnificent,
To express it in stanzas is a large magnitude,
But, boy do we all need to give it our gratitude.
This article was written for Festember: The Renaissance by Ravi Ramesh.
