Time Slips Through Our Fingers Poem by Mohammad Younus

Time slips through our fingers—
a baby fish wriggling free,
a waterfall cascading
through the sieve of dreams,
untamed, uncontrolled.

Yet it is not time that flees,
but the fleeting pursuits
of a restless, chasing mind:
pleasures like blossoms withering,
ambitions dissolving into mist,
visions as transient as dew
beneath the sun's blazing glare.

Time itself is perpetual—
a seamless thread woven through
the fabric of existence,
without joy, without sorrow,
without beginning or end.
It spirals and circles,
a quiet rhythm
in the cosmic dance,
a silent witness
to all that fades away.

Its beauty, boundless and eternal,
escapes the grasp of our mind;
it flows beyond our reach—
a horizon ever receding,
a melody faintly heard,
felt but never held.

We and time are intertwined:
time flows through us,
and we flow through it,
like travelers carried
by its current.
We live by its endless light,
each moment a gift,
eternity unfolding.

MyKoul