Time
Time
Nothingness in it belies
A continuum, uncanny
In all lives it defines
Love, hate, rage and litany
A motion on its own
Sweeping, inescapable
A yardstick mankind bemoans
Perpetual journey, irreversible
It’s life’s anathema
Yet it counts life
It’s a thing of enigma
That heaven had contrived
To it the mind ascribes
Its values and permanence
From these, it proscribes
Denying life’s resistance
Our minds’ affixed
To it we subordinate
Subservience afflicts
Our minds it subrogates
It obfuscates reality
Yet mortal minds believe
Its power and ability
We could not, but receive
In truth, it exists
Only in our minds
Its dwelling crevice
From where it unwinds
In consciousness, it’s framed
Weaved to life, togetherness
For all excuses, it’s claimed
Indistinguishable, oneness
But for consciousness
It would not exist
Nothingness, meaningless
Like a vanquished beast
What is this thing of enigma?
Given life by consciousness
Unfathomable, life’s anathema
Yet, treated with utmost seriousness
What is this thing of enigma?
Ephemeral, elusive
Ethereal like an Avatar
Too convoluted to perceive
It’s life’s inexplicable debt
But to consciousness it owes
Payable only by death
Yet its interest never grows
You and I we share this thing
Only in consciousness it’s sublime
But in death there would be nothing
Of this enigmatic thing called “Time”
Jit H. Lim
12 March 2012
12:36am
Singapore
Copyright ©
Jit Lim | Year Posted 2012
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