Time

We flow with the lives' motion,

Time is by which we measure our past,

The future always seems to be in creation,

Moments pass by like dust. 

Sometimes, time seems to be a misconception,

Life is present, and this present is Life,

Then, is time an illusion?

Where do past and future repose? 

Our lives seem to be…

A series of ups and downs laughs and cries,

Time plays its role like a…

Lubricant to our lives' extreme pain and joy. 

At the beginning of our life – the unknown time,

We are full of the joys of freshness & uniqueness,

And, at the end of our time, what remains is,

That known smell of our memories & relations. 

At last, when the only closest friend of ours –

Time leaves us alone,

Something occurs to us named “Death”,

Then here, we remain as residues, faded & pale. 

To people, only our memories live,

Even if they fade away with time and years,

This time, again time? Is it too subjective?

If so, then why do we live with that, which escapes?