Time

Time will endlessly churn and create newer
images that my eyes shall capture.
Mostly to relegate to archives, a mouldy volume
on which sickly flowers of ruin bloom.
Yet, some memories shall carry your smell, each frame
coated with the savage note of your perfume.

Time pauses briefly – tantalizing - and then moves
tick tock tick tock to the inevitable, it disapproves
of my coward’s tears and feigns heartless indifference
to this terror that clasps my soul. An immense
wheel of cold fear rolls over me, its scorching tracks
leave white flames to dance on my skin. It melts like wax.

Time has cheated us: the inert, ponderous time
soon shall send a black tinkle to our ears, sweet chime
that will lead us to our graves. Would it allow us
then, the simple right to mourn each other’s loss?
Or would I, would we be cursed with a sudden erasure
of all memories: your smell, your eyes, your touch, your love, your …..

Time. The very same Time that guided my feet
to where you were, that let us meet
a hundred thousand minutes too late.
Now, I sit here cursing a black fate
that spills shadows onto all paths between us.
In Time’s endless mirth, we are desecrated thus.