Slap Of Time Poem by Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar

We are the rootless people
Uprooted from the originality:
Reality of the existence
Forgotten the source,
The seed of the past:
The plinth of our life.

The lap that cradled us in childhood,
The rod that alerted not to go astray,
The book that lighted our way,
The school that showered knowledge,
All have no meaning for us now.

Like a leafless stiff tree
With no shadow for the needy
Erected like a mountain in the desert
Showing the vainly pride and strength
We are standing tall for nothing
Unaware of soundless slap of Time.

Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar