The Hands Of Time

by Durkhanai Ghani

And thereafter it was a mere slight chink into the valley of forlornness
Into an eternity, whose eternity I cannot say, for
Time has stood still, She sees no further than beyond the still hands of time and
the past has betrayed her future, leaving her,
Present watching silently the hands of time stood still. Ever so still.
An echo may reach beyond the grave, a desire may surpass from beyond the dust
But it reaches none. It is heard by none.
It simply crashes against the hands of time, again and again.
And there is your eternity, there is your past, and there is your future
Bruised, from beating against the hands of time.
Crying gently, for the past that has forsaken her future.
Why do you cry oh foolish girl?
It is not your past that you should avenge, nor your future you should mourn
It is time itself, it runs through your hourglass minute by minute, like sand drifting away from the coast,
You cannot beat your head against Time?
So why despair oh foolish girl

© Durkhanai Ghani 2012

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