O Time! Moderate your pace,
For with you, I am in no race.
You skip over any and all the bounds
Like a group of excited hounds,
Who, when they sense fear excess,
Dart all the faster with no recess;
Your perennial, invisible stream flows,
Which itself, about time, not knows;
Its work is to keep flowing still
And never, for even a moment, be still;
When there is joy, you flow with the speed
An eagle swoops down on its prey, to feed;
In the dead inaction of sorrow you slow down,
And torture, with a smile on your face, and no frown.
Who possesses the speed most mighty?
Rays of light, or time almighty?
Light can only illuminate,
But time can distort and dominate.
And it seems, as it appears,
Even as my pen’s ink, this paper, smears,
You have chosen to continue to fly
Without a speck of interest, you have gone by,
And since you don’t slow down, you slithering snake,
Whatever one gives, he must take,
Thus I again turn my concentration to my work,
Paying no heed to you; in your face I smirk.
Poet’s Note: This was written at a time when bottling time would have helped – during a certain two-week long examination.