The Game Of Life Poem by Bindu Borle

I wonder at times sitting alone.
All about life
Whether worth a thought or not!
Moments pass slowly.
Experience and rejoice.
There is a feeling of detachment at times,
As though death is foreseen
by a patient about to die.
The graph slipping out, completely fading.
Now dead.
Where do they go?
Among clouds, they say.
Time comes to a standstill, clocks no longer needs to be ticking.
I think among nothingness about life once again.

Copyright © 2006, Bindu Borle