o’clock

We witness the birth of time.
Tonight.

The protagonist had lovers, whom she cannot name in an appropriate order. Probably, she’d arrange the memories in an erratic fashion.
Lovers.
Dreams.
Possessions.
Memories.
Suspicions.
Hallucinations.
Lyrical poems.
Traditions.
Religions.

The protagonist had lovers, lovers with whom she gave birth to moments. Time is born of lost moments, moments lost to the sinuous twists of life. Moments lost to the sinuous twists of existence. You cannot bear them. You cannot beat them.

Have you ever lost your way back to home?
Have you ever gone mad over the rumours?
Or maybe, the rumoured truth?
No?

Time cannot be felt, cannot be sensed until our heartbeats race faster than the heaviest void. The void sustaining time, in health and in sickness.

Time cannot be felt, cannot be sensed until we run short of breath. Slower than the particles sustaining time, sustaining lost moments.

An ocean of sand it is, rushing in a hurry. Sobbing, do you hear?

Time is born of lost moments, moments lost to the sinuous twists of pleasures.
Lovers.
Dreams.
Possessions.
Memories.
Suspicions.
Hallucinations.
Lyrical poems.
Traditions.
Religions.

We all are a part of this intrinsic circle, a part of the rumoured truth. Lost to the sobbing of the almighty, the time, born of lost moments.

•• Aa’eedah

© Cereus Florus. 2018.


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20 thoughts on “o’clock

  1. The protagonist had lovers, lovers with whom she gave birth to moments. Time is born of lost moments, moments lost to the sinuous twists of life. Moments lost to the sinuous twists of existence. You cannot bear them. You cannot beat them.

    Lovely lines, though I find incoherence I blame it on my limited understanding. Followed your blog for more such posts.

    Liked by 3 people

      1. Rambling prose is usually the most insightful ones, mostly because the writer is immersed in the thoughts and moving on tangents unconscious about the presentation, thus spake one novice to another 🙂

        Liked by 2 people

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