Sweaty armpits and rubbery legs
Labored breathing, one more step
My mind aching for a destination
There is none
Nothing but internal babblings
And an afternoon run.

Life passes by
Moment by moment
Each minute a grain of sand
In a ceaseless flow inside
This biological hourglass

Time has this peculiarity:
This irreversible absurdity

That to crave for more time
Becomes one's slow undoing
Sagging skin, unsightly wrinkles
Bones turn brittle, breaking
Muscles ****** out of their strength
Atrophied
Eyes failing, perpetual darkness
And the self succumbs to the lull
Of oblivion
The mind: no longer, extinguished
What's left is a husk of what once was
A human being.

Hope then becomes a beacon, a torch
In the middle of a starless night
A burning, warm sense of certainty
Hope, or that stubborn illusion
That happiness is one's lot in life

But time silently persists
Eroding foundations, narratives
Dismantling falsity
Uprooting grand, elaborate conceits
Blind and merciless
Uncaring towards puny human desires
Hope's demise.

Life: a futile struggle against time.

To what end?

Always in the rush
Always pressured to comply
Always expected to perform well.

This is the problem with humans
They are not immortals
They always lack

Time.

Forlornness that wraps the core of my being
Still, relished by a heart that aches to write
Alone, in subdued pain, but accepting
I feel my body and all its agonies
Never wanting this moment to end
In spite of it all, a gentle smile
I find solace in every breath
And in this tender loneliness.