Time’s Travelogue
In
a moment of reverse
Adjudication of pondering,
Time doesn’t
fleet nor fly.
It
takes its own steady course
On its embittered wheels.
At times coarse tapping
Your memory. Otherness
Is
always there. Its
doing
And undoing
a wonder.
It is a crow
morn to
noon,
Hop skips on
the brown stems
Or branches, looking
askance
and
pecking hither and thither.
Wheeling on
Time’s immutable circa
You wonder at those
basking in the
Luminous galaxy, a
rebirth of
Their
identity. For some,
A wanted quick release
From
this cacophonous trauma .
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