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Time
by Ansari Wahabdeen
Time …
King or pauper, in tears or laughter,
Fit or the feeble, shrewd or the gullible
A democratic commodity,
No distinction or disparity,
The same for every man’s son.
Time’s our life story from day one.
Hours twenty four is all what we get,
Our status no matter, we remember or forget,
Increase twenty four to more, succeeded has none
Reduce it to less, no human has done.
Time waits for no man,
It writes and having writ moves on,
Toil or relax under the sun,
Sweaty and disheveled, or enjoy the fun,
The choice is ours and ours alone,
Before we know our days will be gone.
Lovers wait for their rendezvous,
Babies in wombs till time is due,
Painful memories later acceptable to the mind,
When the years roll on with the passage of time.
Belongs to us only this very minute,
Behind we cannot go or forward by a single digit
For life of crime
Behind bars serve time
How to live, our choice,
In our hands the end, to regret or rejoice.
When the count is taken our time no more
Our epitaph written by friend and foe
From day one to the end, our life will unfold
We’ll not be around when the story is told.
All rights reserved by the writer. Not to be copied, distributed or otherwise used without permission.
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