Time
Like cloth you wear me
Like a tool you use me
Like termites you chew my days
Like ink you spill me
And write stories
Of love and hate
On your anvil of change
You hammer me
With deafening gongs
Neither do I have minutes
Nor seconds of my own
But only to wait for that hour
When you'll seal me in a box
With one final blow
Only then
Your hands will stop
And I'll forget you
With a dark laughter
In the womb of silence
Copyright © Ibohal Kshetrimayum | Year Posted 2018
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