T
Time presses the neck
like a beaded choker
glittering with stones of myriad colours
fascinating the world
like nectar to a humming bird .
It strangles,
restricting each breath to flow freely
at least the counted ones ,
one’s number is ordained –
they say so.
In love, each little moment
is a moment of immeasurable counts,
while the world rejoices
at the lost sanity of another creature.
A terse and reflective piece suffused with hints of nostalgic regret.
‘In love, each little moment
is a moment of immeasurable counts’ ….
Contrasting feelings very subtly portayed…
An introspective and profound literary piece.
Thank you Louis sir, Pushmaotee ji and Vijay ji for your kind words