The Silent Exchange of Time
It drops into your palm at dawn,
Eighty-six thousand, four hundred strong.
No safe to hold it, no bank to lend,
Only this: you must spend, and spend.
A coin of seconds, fleeting and bright,
Spent on the darkness, or spent on the light.
You trade it for laughter, a tear, or a dream,
Slipping away like a silent stream.
You cannot buy back what you spent on the wasted,
Nor reclaim the joy that you already tasted.
It pays for the wisdom, it pays for the pain,
It cannot be hoarded, it cannot remain.
So guard your wallet, this wallet of hours,
Don’t trade it for weeds, but nurture the flowers.
For every heartbeat is a spendable note,
A quiet transaction on which you must vote.
Spend it on love, on growth, or what’s true—
For the currency of time is bought only by you.
Once gone, it is lost, a memory, a sign,
That you spent your life upon the divine.
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