ECHOES OF TIME

Seasons of my vibrant age’s march
With new folks on every fleeting land, planted
All their wisdom and love to depth, quenching
But as though creeping sheen of mid-summer sun,
Which but pale and gloomy with season’s wane,
Same shall I do, away with starry prints,
Deepest lodged all, some force or favor minced
Pain still triggers harder for my losing mates,
Alike closest soul, for five winters chilled same,
And possessed one; mirth, pain or masters’ bless.
That laughter around, from wooden benches aside,
Which then, all were mere noises once there
My waning stays now soothed are,
By those echoes much,
For what shall now work, their imaged papers
Fixed too near of my diminishing eyes
Or faint fading sounds, drumming in memories
Will earth turn to lend me the same age?
The same benches and echoes of laughter around
With same lure of swift aged mates roaming?
Can those crushed sand be tilled to fresh again?
But no lord, my feet have marched too far,
Hardening base by every move and wink,
All would fade away, minutely seeping out,
Through crevices of my nerves,
And blessings of those gurus from dice too,
Alas melting away with distance of moving time.
Perchance if faint pictures of their goodness lodged,
Many reasons from awaited new destiny
Binding them invisibly, and escape for never again.