Deserting sands of Time.

My newly bought shoes get embedded on
the ,brownish, countless sands on the shore,
am I brooding over countless sands of Time,
who deserts whom? Does Time with its winged
Wheel desert you? or you gibe at the Honesty
of Eternity, saying it is only in books and looks
not in living or saying,

Yet, I see honesty in fair children, nearby,
themselves, pretty pair of dolls,
the colorful fringes and frills touch the ground
while they round and round on the sand,
yet those sands speak volumes
of undying, still unread pages of the past,
as even rocky waves dash and recede only,
to silence the harrowing hubbub of
humanity in deliberate cacophony,

those pretty dolls, with their mouthful,
blowing empty balloons up the sky,
emptied balloons come, not heavily
back to the sands of shore.