The Last 39 Minutes
The touch of turning day and night
builds the life bud layer by layer.
The blossomed design of destined time
opens the petals as the floral essence
of existence gradually unfurls
the transient beauty of living,
until the flower withers
at the stroke of winter’s slashing silence,
and disappears drifting consumed
in the abyss of the allotted time.
At the far end of life’s rough garden path
I now amble with the wilted flower
for the last 39 minutes,
steps tracing the last mile
in the corridor of tarnished twilight
with lasting sleep creeping in my eyes.
I see the spectrum of the setting sun
stain the sands of time almost still,
turning into specks of eternity
sinking within the sated soul.
I float in the ethereal waves
in the bay of infinite bliss,
sailing to the yonder shore,
waiting for me to be reached
at the end of the last minute of my time,
and let me be with me in perpetual dream.
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