Time Poem by Ibohal Kshetrimayum
Time
Like clothes you wear me
Like a tool you use me
Like ink you pour me
And write stories
Of love and hate
On your anvil of change
You hammer me
With deafening gongs
Neither do I have minutes
Nor seconds for myself
But only to wait for that hour
When you'll put me in a box
With one final strike
Only then
Your hands will stop
And I'll forget you
With a dark laughter
In the womb of silence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 11:09:37 AM # 1.0.0.1119
