The Mime Called Time

by samantakbhadra

The leaves fall and wither

Pages turn monotonously

The calendar falls off the wall

I am the witness, stranger

 —

There are no random bursts

There is only consistent loss

The eyes become stones

I have felt it, stranger

 —

The skin peels off slowly

Virility is a dying flame

The mind is a rusted nail

I mourn you, stranger

 —

Grey is your house now

The paint is thus extinct

The creepers are free

I reside there, stranger

A calm fire is burning

Smoke hiding the tear

Devouring that armchair

I know of it, stranger

Memories without colour

And an indefinite abyss

Inevitable and unacceptable

Not your fault, stranger

Incessant hands of the clock

The wind pays no heed

Blowing away the dust

You understand, stranger

 —

Light up your eyes

The wheels stop therefore

Sunlight in the room

You may smile, stranger

 —

Every drop of time

Precious bead in a necklace

Silent message is conveyed

I am a mime, stranger

Published in Recours au Poème, France (August, 2013)

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