How can you define time?
Is there a definition to it?
Some say time passes fast.
Some say it passes slow.
The universe has been around for billions of years.
But that wasn't long ago, right?
There is no beginning to time.
Or end to it.
It's infinite.
But, is a second little or a lot of time?
A second is in an hour is in a day is in a week is in a month is in a year is in a decade is in a century is in a millennial, is in a million years is in a billion years is in a trillion years and so forth.
Yet...
A nanosecond is in a microsecond is in a millisecond is in a hundredth of a second is in a tenth of a second is in a ninth of a second is in an eighth of a second is in a seventh of a second is in a sixth of a second is in a fifth of a second is in a fourth of a second is in a third of a second is in half a second and so forth.  

Time doesn't start, but it doesn't end.

TIME IS INFINITE!

What is the definition of infinite?

Maybe,
There is,
Something you're afraid to say,
Or confess,
Somewhere you're afraid to go,
Or leave,
Someone you're afraid to love,
Or let go,
Afraid of those things,
That will make you hurt,
For hurt means,
It matters.

~

Shadows move on sheet rock barriers
framed in time of late
Spaces filled with unknown visions
dance about with feet of clay
Gowns of nightmare carpetbaggers
thunder on the floor
Drippings in a mist of nervous breath
blanket my safe haven
and the sounds scream
in voices of past mishaps
Lost in lonely corridors,
wailing on aching skylights
permitting barely a moon glow psalm
to echo of their meaning
in songs from a distance,
of pleading skeletal desire

“I fear for I have no choice”

Doorways yawn in weary ovations
Slanted photos dot the landscape
Windows prove little relief from the cold
as heat pierces my cavities
Gaping wounds of frail memories
clutch at my last ounce,
measuring the words I am reading
Taking a breath, sweet, stagnant
Clawing for an exit only to find
it has stood before me all along
Baby steps, I have been told
Find that trust, slowly…make sure,
reach out for the hand
offered on a dreamscape message

“I fear for I have no choice?”

Eyes, so tired, weeping pools
out of focus since that day, open
(As if sunflowers float on silken wings
and glorious becomes an understood word)
slowly and tentatively,
blinking sorrow’s pathway free
to lead me to you
The imprint of that butterfly
marks my palm in red lines of love,
mapping my skin with a long awaited
smile, dry lips curve as I take your hand
trusting, for the very first time
realizing the feeling
which hath finally…set me free

“I no longer fear, for I have a choice”

~

Sitting on this roof,
seeing the colored lights in neighboring windows
finding frosted panes in abstract happiness,
as winter’s wind howls about my face

Speakers blare in cramping holiday tones,
(What’s so wonderful about it ~ this time of year?)
Shingles damp and slippery,
still I hold on for dear life

Fingers numb but clinging,
for without my seated sadness
on this peak above chimney ash
watching streams finding the edge

how else would those muddied
tear drop icicles form?

~

Then I hear it on shivering vibrations
A voice from ~ out there ~ somewhere
A shadow beneath a flickering street light
Footprints in circles about the square

Moving in my direction
My silhouette on white clouds shimmies
A little to the side, for a better view
Wings ~ it has ~ she has wings

I blink a frozen eyelash ~ she is sitting next to me
A warm, feathery quilted wing about my shoulders
Chilled cheeks burn as I smile
and my heart melts as she whispers to me ~

*“No more icicles”

/
When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly

When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity

Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme

Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm

You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically

You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously

The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic  

Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Don't create
Friends
or
Enemies...

You'll get
caught up
in your
own creation...

Learn to
remain in
solitude
with everything
around you*...