Memories are trapped in soul
because time is circular,
It spins, circles
and creates a web;
a cage around our being,
It has a fine thread
to weave its web,--
past, present and future,
Like a master performer,
it juggles these three balls,
Keeps them in the play
in its two hands:
the known and the unknown;
fear and safety;
life and death.
Past, present and future
keep searing through us
at their own free will,
No wonder, we live life
in mere fragments,--
hope-despair, love-hate,
dreams-reality, tears-smiles.
We are fragments,
And we flow for
completion, contentment and rest,
Like water running
from the hills to the sea,
We are imperfections
seeking perfection,
Pushing, colliding, mixing,
adding, subtracting,--
the mathematics of life
to solve the puzzle of our existence;
to give it a purpose, a solution.
Time meanwhile nullifies all equations,
The biggest equation summing to zero,
The kings vanish,
The dictators mingle to dust,
The castles turn to leveled ground,
All fractions (big and small)
fly and then hit the bottom
and get mixed in the same soil,
Only time remains,
It chuckles in its totality
from among the cosmic web.
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