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Poem

A Peculiar Life


Nothing is miracle to me
Clock doesn’t belong to me
I’m always on my chime
Who made diurnal and nocturnal? 
You or your forefathers?
Or, progenitors or those stars and planets?
Who, why and where, begin and vanish?

As a bubble in the ocean upon my womb
All are my sons, I belong to them.
Atoms are overwhelming
Not considering foreign objects. 
Seeing its promulgation, time turns neck
No rule, no law, no compassion, or
A flow of infinite fragrance, always.

No starts’ alert, nor bother of tedious
A course of action never towards ends.
Opposition’s uproars as if in next term
Need of evacuees or thoughts of demises.

Neither commences, nor courtesy
Speed, a course in the path of faith.
Always desolated, a effect of consciousness
Only winning event there seems in realm, always.
Time does have a peculiar life, a belief always.

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