Arrow of Time

In my write, when my eyes blink, At this moment, He flows, as the beautiful song of sublime, Swayed by the needles of my wall clock, When the greens of Spring as fallen leaves of autumn, When munching caterpillars on oak metamorphose as butterflies, He flows, as the beautiful song of sublime, Swayed by the needles of my wall clock, As the force which transforms seed to giant banyan or As the eloquence which transforms mother’s little girl to exquisite women, He flows, as the beautiful song of sublime, Swayed by the needles of my wall clock, The moving clouds above my head blow with trade winds, Hisses in my ears “This moment of you, eventually dwindles into the jar of memories tomorrow and never going to come back’’, He flows, as the beautiful song of sublime, Swayed by the eternal rhythm of cosmos, And it’s declined reversibility, as arrow of time. He creates, maintains, destroys and conceals, He flows, as the beautiful song of sublime, Swayed by the needles of my wall clock.