each day seems to drag on,
unwilling to kiss the next,
whether you’d come, willingly yield to my love,
oh! the uncertainty of time.
each blink of my eye wishes it was the very last,
unwilling to rise again,
half held up, half let down,
no one will ever know, half glad,
no one will ever know, half sad,
the bright but blinding white fog,
hides but all,
oh! the uncertainty of vision.
each breathe that was to come, seems to stalk,
turning the present one into a rock,
too fast and away,
that, yesterday’s fragrance of the bloom is now a mere remembrance in delusion ,
so small that i may not feel it slipping away through my fingers,
so subtle that my breathe might not even know that it just missed to sense the last air of life,
and so escape sometimes, from my grasp, even the remaining wisps of memories that let me survive,
oh! the uncertainty of the very life.
Tweet me at @sankarajayanth