Ruins of Time 🪄

On Time Can One Trust?

Under the spell of wanderlust,
A traveller embarked, thereon commenced the quest… On time can one trust?

Swirled round the globe!
Glided through the howling gales,
Amidst melancholic silence and melodious wails.
Under the spell of wanderlust,
Probing, if on time one can trust.

Exhausted of the expedition landed at the New land,
There stood a mighty woman with a torch in her hand.
Her name “Mother of Exiles”,
They flaunt her as an icon of their virtuous profile.
This show has been going on since a long while.

She had promised to embrace the huddled masses longing to breath free and let them what they yearned to be.
The flame of the torch is imprisoned lighting yet gloomier than brightening.

They boast themselves as champions of liberty,
Maybe, they don’t know that ideals need to be cherished in the time’s race to infinity.

With experience of how virtues lose their sheen as their statue’s stature starts to lean.
The traveller oriented towards the Oriental land,
There the tallest statue on Earth stood erect amid the vast vistas of sand.

His name is the “Iron man”, he stands there as the embodiment of integrity.
But a look around revealed, how time tarnished their ideal of unity.

The traveller slumped into the ground, Shattered the spell of wanderlust.
Quenched the thirst of quest,
On time none can trust!
Even ideals cannot outlive the ravages of time,
They fall into oblivion and that’s the paradigm.

They are fond of collosal statues,
That embody their eminent ideals.
So, they plaster the cracks, paint to hide the stains and make it look brand new again.
But they don’t know,
Devoid of ideals, sham is all that they show.

Traveller in despondence uttered,
“Even ideals rust,
On time none can trust”!

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