Time The Mystery Poem by Uttam Biswas

A sweet morning,
The sun is newly born,
The flowers newly bloom,
All creatures smile,
Who were in gloom.

Morning runs -
With the tickling of time,
Slowly leaves behind;
Moments sublime,
Someone does good things
And someone does crime,
Thus we slowly forget-
The sublimity of morning-
The precious time.

After morning
The sun burns,
Life too
Takes critical turns,
In this complexity,
The whole world learns,
Life is not a bed of roses,
And not of funs.

Slowly slowly the night comes,
Life too comes at an end,
Ends before he gets
The chance to mend.
A dead is buried
Not under the soil,
Rather he is buried
Under the eternity of time.

Life and death
Is the mystery of time,
This is the way of the world,
And plays as the principle prime.