My time is frozen in you,
My tongue is twisted,
Can’t say the words, they’re clogged inside…
I miss you and I will always love you…
My muse is gone, am not so much amused,
My timing was wrong and ... got bruised.
“In time, your time will be no more”, you say,
You’ve left a lot of sand behind, to mark your way…
But what’s Time Itself, where does it go?
A multitude of grains, in hourglass caught,
A way to build a trail, in hearts, sometime ago…
A dune of splinters of the reality thought.
A dream behind the curtains,
I’m here, and I am not…
A “pick-a-boo” show, that hasn’t started yet,
A story with no endings…
…And therefore, no regrets.
We twist and turn the tale,
For something we convene,
And leave the deeds as baits…serene,
For Time, the thief, the grains, to steal…
Afraid was I of short comings ahead of us, to be,
And left the Time entrapping,
You’ve said it: “Let It Be”…
Oh, Mute, and Deaf, and Blind I’m being,
Imagination is what’s left to be…
A nightmare with no finishings and no regrets, no sorrows,
And wake-up in the morning, how many more Tomorrows?