Magic Of Time - Poem by Prateep Sengupta
From the Palaeolithic times
Millions of years have lapsed
They fondly gathered those boulders
Carried them on their shoulders
Wishing to hurl them at those
That wronged them once
Or made them shed tears.
The boulders broke into pieces
Before being hurled.
Those who followed them
Preserved the broken pieces with care
Knowing that stones wouldn't be bad
With which they can strike those they dislike.
Time never ceased to flow;
With its every ripple
Stones broke into pebbles.
With weaker sight and
Targets could not be reached.
Boulders turned to stones
Stones to pebbles
Many generations went and came
Those who did them wrong were no more
But suspicion and hatred kept them apart
Yet they kept the pebbles with care
With the hope that some day
They will serve as weapons rare.
They broke further,
Turned to sand
Outstretched on the vast shore
By foes and friends.
Meekly listening to the mighty roars
Of endless waves
They waited still keeping in memory fresh
The long list of their imagined foes
To whom they were yet to hurl the stones.
Trembling hands could not firmly hold
Even the grains of sand,
Vigorous wind blew the dust,
The eyes irritated, idea of revenge was crushed
Those who waited so long to avenge the wrong
Were finally reduced to dust.
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