Thief Of Hours Poem by ashok jadhav

Time comes softly, without warning,
a shadow that steals while we are busy living.
It takes the familiar hands we once held,
the laughter that filled rooms,
the faces we thought would never vanish.
Moments slip through our fingers like water,
bright mornings, warm evenings, unguarded smiles—
gone before we knew their worth,
leaving only the ache of absence behind.
People disappear not in storms, but in quiet,
their presence fading like a half-remembered dream.
We reach for them in vain,
finding only echoes,
and the hollow space where they once were.
Time is a thief that leaves no note,
no explanation, no grace.
All we have are fragments,
and the longing to reclaim what has already gone,
to hold the vanished in memory,
even as it slips further into shadow.