I am in the middle of a hurricane,
this hurricane of confusion,
knowing not the start and the finish,
and a throbbing pulse the only sensation.
I am in the middle of an unchanging change,
the constant inertia of lost time,
its beginning to make me squirmish,
and its like spoilt good wine.
I begin and end and hang in conversations,
and subtly try to change time’s mind,
and there, kaboom all efforts,
I am left alone behind.
And quick is the pace of thoughts,
and fickle this life’s impulse,
and yet the stunning magic and sheer sunshine,
with them I do elope.