A moment passes
Or gets buried, in the sands of time
Overladen with bitter sweet memories
Overburdened with expectations of mine
It slips through my fingers
Sliding away of its own free will
Totally unmindful of what I desire
Totally uncaring to the hilt
Where does it go, this moment
Which makes for bits and pieces of time
For which I toil and sweat endlessly
And trudge while the clock chimes
Wish I could access my moments
Secretly, silently, at my leisure
Wish I could store them in my chest
And cherish my hidden treasure
Alas! That is not be
For they have dispersed far and wide
Flown away into the ether
Without an address or a guide
Subir Chakraborty
28th May 2020
poetryforthesoul2018.com 
Ah, the mystery of time! Apparently its structure is radically different from what our intuition suggests. It seems to flow at different speeds in different parts of the universe, so that the very notion of the present moment may soon change, and our understanding of the past, present and future may change with it. In the mean time, we shall enjoy your poetic investigations, Subir. 😊
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