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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