The Voice Of Time

The time has a voice,

That the realm we exist uses;

It’s not divided into hours, minutes and seconds,

It’s also made of wounds and bruises...

The time never screams in ears,

It leaves marks on our skin;

So many pain and rashes,

We can’t tell where it begins...

The world failed to understand the voice,

And the language time speaks;

Therefore, we misinterpret its message,

And all that the time repeats...

We are scared of our wounds and bruises,

Hide them from the world to see;

Instead of expressing it with conviction,

“See what the time inscribed just for me”...

The wounds and bruises fade away,

Left with only distinct few;

Time will make sure it stays,

To paint our dark skies cerulean blue...

Protect these wounds and bruises,

Till the end of your time;

One day you will find someone with love and faith,

To decipher every line.