A grey sheath of stagnant silence…
Dissolution into the surreal flow of night..
Punctured..embellished by the notion of time..
Rioting mind muses on..
Only the tick-tock of a mundane clock..
Piercing, distracting.. the still flow..
Ripples of time.. penetrating the mum..
The curve of a ripple postulates a moment..
The tick enunciating the bend..a crisp of time..
As life strolls in the direction unknown..
And shreds life into the passage past..
Like the leaves of deciduous tree..
Speaks through the crumpling murmurs of it..with it..it the mind..
The mind.. voices pivoting into their own helix..
It wonders..saunters into realms unbound..
“How can time be still, flow and yet wither away?”
A dimensionless entity.. like the surreal night..
Only absorbed and imprinted on the mind..