Ah! We Will Be Sage Poem by Aftab Alam

I know the time, well that sings,
In his bag, fate that brings,
We run behind to get one,
It gives two for fun,
If you need four,
It gives three,
Never seen his worried face! ,
He is always free, ,

One day seen him sittin' on a tree; with gun
Waitin' the sun, I think he was hungry,
Under the tree, stood who, those were angry,
Time shouted sun, people shouted bun,

Time pretended to be dead, impalpable,
People stoned the time, with the pebble,
Since then time is hidin' here and there,
We run short of time, it's not fair,

We are turning to primitive,
In search of time,
I am worried, really worried,
Horse and Sword will come again,
I am happy to know byt this is way,
We will go to Stone Age, ,

Ah! We will be sage