TIME ON MY HANDS

What is time to one who has none

when we know it to be constant

travelling at a preordained pace

no fuss, no hurry, no haste

What is time to one who has too much

activity slowing to nothing

The dilemma may never find answer

and remain a question, as such

For some it is never enough

watching every passing moment

dance the waltz of death

as it were life's last breath

For some it travels slowly

those alone and lonely

Each second dragging inexorably

every sound as loud as a pin drop' fall

How it changes drastically

when surrounded by desired company

every second conveniently forgotten

every sound as loud as laughter

And how through life we capture time

with videos, posts and memories

some forgotten, some deleted

some living in electronic hereafter

Perhaps it is time to smell the rain

and time to caress the wind

A time to hear whispered words

resurrected from the din of the day

A time of meditative reflection

A time to taste lost flavours

A time to discover time

now reclaimed by nature