The time has a voice,
That the realm we exist uses;
It’s not divided into hours, minutes and seconds,
It’s also made of wounds and bruises…
The time never screams in ears,
It leaves marks on our skin;
So many pain and rashes,
We can’t tell where it begins…
The world failed to understand the voice,
And the language time speaks;
Therefore, we misinterpret its message,
And all that the time repeats…
We are scared of our wounds and bruises,
Hide them from the world to see;
Instead of expressing it with conviction,
“See what the time inscribed just for me”…
The wounds and bruises fade away,
Left with only distinct few;
Time will make sure it stays,
To paint our dark skies cerulean blue…
Protect these wounds and bruises,
Till the end of your time;
One day you will find someone with love and faith,
To decipher every line.
