“Glowing smile in the daylight ended in a sudden dark dismay.
I heard their cry at night, heard them regret their day,
heard their souls, repenting, and craving,
Wished them time, from the crib of my grave.”
The world is constant, life is constant, living is constant, and so is death. But it changes, passes on, doesn’t stay, time is no one’s enemy but it’s a friend to none. Time, affordable by none but a blessing to some.
Lives have been wasted in denial of its power, of its significance and justice. We’re fools to waste it like it is our own like it doesn’t breathe and live because nothing gets more real than the moment itself.
Life starts from the womb but lives on the soil, nourished by the soil, and at last buried in the soil, but life, as we do not know it, is bound by time. The time that should be spent admiring the sunshine, is passed otherwise, because of time. The time that we could’ve created moments worthwhile, were spent otherwise, because of time. We perceive it to be limited, but we couldn’t be more wrong.
Time is the only thing unbound and unlimited, and we hear it laugh, when they cry, every night, at dawn, from beneath the soil, the ones in the grave, they wish they lived, not spending time, but making it.