my life
is a fistful of smouldering sediments
floating on a rivulet of time
you cast vibrations
on the splattered glass pieces
that dilute into the resonance of the mind
too deep to be touched
by time
your words
are a drop of shimmering ecstasy
stagnant in my trembling grasp
that drips down the pendulum
across people and places
to be a frozen bubble
of eternity
my pen
is a bridge of metaphors
across the rivulet of the time
that coerces the present and future
on the eternal pillar
of your words
i am but a tired traveler
walking into the broken miles
of a sleepy horizon
along a bridge of words
yet
sometimes i pause
to smell the decaying sediments
in the rivulet of time
below the bridge of words
can i ever hold on
to your heart burnt tears
that now seep into undercurrents
of the past?
every moment lived
is a story of the past
i am a tired traveler
time-travelling
on a bridge of words
till it crumbles
and then ………
i am a fistful
of smouldering sediments
lost in rivulets of time ........
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