In my language
The word for time is old
And slow
It refers to tides
Rolling back and forth
Eternally
Shaping our shores
Moving our minds.

In my language
The word for an hour
Is time itself
Thus holding captive
A fragment of eternity
Within a mere fracture
Of a life
Of a day

A minute in my language
Is a letter shorter than yours
But sometimes
They feel longer
Stretched
In boredom
Or anticipation

Sometimes
They disappear
The minutes
Taking with them
The moment
Like seconds

Ours seconds
With a slightly harsher spelling
Are still fragile
Fickle,  evasive
They make everything
Relative
Change fates
Inspire artists
Win wars
But the tides are eternal

Time, in my language,
Is bound
To the Earth
To forces
Greater than us.