27

the irony called life

oh…the time just flies like anything

the train of the months passes with a zing

the beads of dates change in second

the unit of time quite hard to be reckoned

the sprint towards the death is faster

the changing calendars spelling disaster

every year flaunts and runs away fast

how long will this weakening body last?

what for we have ascended on this earth?

what is the real motive of this birth?

where is the peace for this wandering soul?

what is our mission, what is our goal?

yesterday we were kids now we are parenting them

and soon tomorrow our kids will be the parents

the shift in the roles is sweet though sore

we keep moving till the edge and more

till we are out of this game of existence

and then, there will neither be presence nor absence

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