Title: The Hourglass Poem by ashok jadhav

(The speaker stands alone, glancing at their hands, their reflection, their surroundings, as if measuring time itself. Their voice shakes between fear, anger, and despair.)
Monologue:
Do you feel it? That creeping… that quiet, relentless pull?
Time. It slips through your fingers like sand,
and you—helpless—you can only watch it fall.
Every line on my face… every ache in my bones…
they are reminders. Reminders that I am fading.
I am terrified.
Terrified that one day… one day very soon…
there will be nothing left of me but whispers.
Whispers and memories that even my own name cannot hold.
And what have I done with the years I had?
What have I truly lived for, if not to fear this very moment?
Death… it isn't just a word anymore.
It's a shadow at the edge of every laugh, every breath, every heartbeat.
It waits patiently, and I… I am running in circles,
pretending I am safe, pretending I am still young,
but the mirror tells the truth. The mirror never lies.
Wrinkles, gray hair, a body that betrays me…
they scream the truth: I am mortal. I am finite.
And I hate it. I hate that I will vanish,
that everything I love, everything I am,
will be swallowed by nothingness.
I have tried to outrun it. Tried to fill my days,
to make meaning, to leave a mark.
But it is never enough. Never enough.
(Pauses, voice trembling, almost pleading.)
If I could hold back the hours, if I could steal one more day…
one more moment…
I would. I would.
But I cannot.
And so I wait.
I wait for the inevitable,
watching life's candle flicker,
knowing soon, very soon,
it will be snuffed out… and all that will remain
is fear, regret, and the echo of who I was.
(The speaker sinks slowly, hands pressed to their face, as if trying to hold onto the fleeting moments of life itself.)