AbhayThe myth of immortality drives youth to recklessness.
The palpability of death drives us all to restlessness.
And always the hands of the clock tick on,
Their inexorability unfazed
even after the one who made them is gone.
As carefree as we are born, society teaches us to value greed.
As abundance and excess grow normal, we forget what we truly need.
And “time is money” they say,
But no amount of money
could buy them just one more day.
Days they squander, days they waste, days that pass without a thought.
Time grows short, we grow old, the seemingly endless days of childhood forgot.
All the while it just feels wrong,
That even a time keeper
can’t keep time for long.
