Ashok Jahagirdar Poet Rhyme

The Unreapetable Moment

The clock's black hand, a surgeon's knife,
Slices the present from the past.
This singular, particular life
Is made of moments that don't last.

The way the light fell on the wall,
A certain slant of afternoon,
The sound of nothing, and then all
The quiet rising of the moon.

The coffee's steam, a spiral drawn
Between your fingers and your lips,
Before the fragile thread is gone,
Before the final, cooling sips.

The laughter that we cannot hold,
That spills like coins from a ripped purse,
A story someone briefly told,
For better, or for worse.

We try to trap it, press it flat
In photographs or yellowed pages,
A captured fly in amber, that
Defies the turning of the ages.

But it's a ghost, a mimicry,
A hollow where the sound has fled.
The only truth is: this, for me,
For you, for now. Then gone. Then dead.

So let the unrepeatable be
A sharp and startling, sweet surprise.
Not something to be caught, but see
With full acceptance in your eyes.

And then release it, let it flow
Back to the river it came from.
The only way to keep it? Know
Its beauty is it will not come
Again.

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