On the fine sands of time,
With bated breath, mine,
I stagger, fall, get up fine,
With might again, I climb.
The dunes beat me off rhyme,
All blow against: wind, clime,
The inner conscience whines,
“Nothing in hands of thine.”
I grip in my hands, sands fine,
The more I fist sands refined,
The grains slip, in swift lines,
From the weary hands of mine.
Running behind illusions, no sign,
The mirage scurries then shines,
Playing and hiding, I can’t find,
Wonder if thirst be quelled in time?
The footprints on sands of time,
Erased fully in just no time,
Like my meek face undermined,
From the face of earth, in time.
This post was written in response to What do you see #46. I thank Sadje for hosting this challenge. The challenge was to write a poem or a prose on the picture provided.
©Aashi D Parekh