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“I open the door and cross the threshold of imagination”


Time past, like a grandma’s tale
Has a moral to tell.
Time present, busy, full and bursting
Save me, my Lord.
Time future, O God, It’s but a dream

Time hangs heavy hereabouts, at this bus stop,
 Called the market stop, where folks wait bleary-eyed,
But not for this spectacled, haggard, wiry girl
At this bookstore opposite in conversation
With a rough- looking guy for forty minutes now
The bus comes, I squeeze myself in , but eyes strain
To find if that butterfly, book in hand, a last minute arrival
Had fluttered on to this bus;  yes, she had..
Time suddenly grows a butterfly’s wings and flies.

Out  there, time, the prancing horse, is a non-stop myth, ,
The ageless do not get time-worn, 
Again, there, air, space and all its gadgetry 
 Free Of all traps and waits and longings
Having time, not human-clock-bound,
Locked up in stellar boxes, pressed into black holes
Waiting for an explosion..the end…timeless end.



Form used:  All the three are in Free verse form
Contest:  `Three  Gems`  of Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet~
BY  :  S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Date written:  Written years back, but slightly compressed for this post
04 aug 2011

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