“Cyclical Yet Unreturning”


The heart beats–
      tick and tock.
Whether in stagnant ponds,
Or in flowing, ebbing waves,
Or in rushing rivers from the
Waterfalls of broken rocks.

The mind operates–
      tick and tock.
Whether in dusty plains,
Or in bricked, ancient streets,
Or in newly asphalted highways
That lead to endless horizons.

The mouth speaks–
      tick and tock.
Whether in the harmony of trees and birds
In mountains, fields, and seas,
Or in the clamour of horns and cries
In the sullied slums and towers.

The hand moves– 
      tick and tock.
Whether in staring blankly
At the steadiness of movement,
Or at the wake of yore’s death,
Or at the hope of morrow’s vanity.

Hear the footsteps–
       tick and tock.
Impending and inevitable.
A sure, loyal visitor knocking,
A consistent, persistent suitor of all,
Though unwelcome, ’tis ever-abiding.

The world is enclosed in–
      tick and tock.
All movements are bounded by this.
No power on earth is ever greater
To halter its unfaltering breaths.
Thus, Succumb. Arise. Move.

Live in circles that take
       on a different hue
With every tick and tock it takes.
Its living running short,
Its dying certain, and so is the end
of all movements–irrevocable.


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