Jan 4

Time, they say, is a straight road we travel.
Always onwards, shedding skins of our yesterdays,
where the past is a milestone forever gone,
never to be revisited.
Or perhaps, time is a circle, our sowings and harvests juxtaposed,
where life repeats inside a precisely designed hula-hoop,
till we balance our account books, till our files are tagged ‘closed’.

But isn’t time just another gadget of our fertile minds?
Invented for the convenience of arithmetic calculations,
to measure the span of galaxies and dazzle of suns.
Comings-goings, meetings-partings, births-deaths;
all mere punctuations in the realm of continuity,
just to help eternity catch its breath,
in its unimaginable voyage of ingenuity.

I do not know where we stand on the rungs of time.
But through all these dark, frozen nights,
across this mirage of miles, I will always hold you tight.
Protecting, comforting and feeling the tranquil you,
your rhythmic warm breath falling like a night-long rain
in the throbbing space between my breasts,
while I seek my salvation in the girdle
of your arms wrapped round my waist.

As dawn carves an orange rectangle
on the morning curtains and the oval mirror glints
sun-drenched sparkles on our sleepy morning smiles,
we would remain,
without an ending, because we never began,
because we always were, always are, one,
till time spills into infinity in creation’s awesome game plan.