Time! Stop for your son.


Chariots of time race past me.

And helpless I stand, before the charge.
It has wings of fire, and wheels that never tire
But time and its chariots never stop for me, but why?



Time! Stop for your son.
Your son is weary, your son is tired.
Your son has commitments by plenty to keep.
Time; stop for me. Let your son weep.


Time! Stop for your son.
In thine hands I was cradled.
Your hands, to rub, they never rise.
Oh time, the tears off my cheeks.

 

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Must be all the beers I had on Saturday, but somehow ended up scribbling this on a tissue paper..

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About Abhi Surendran

Abhi quit his corporate job, and decided to immerse himself in travels, photography, occasional periods of bankruptcy, and copious amounts of insanity. He is currently working on a book of his experiences, and a dream road trip through South Asia. Both in a haphazard fashion. He blogs at Iamnothome and you can also catch him at times on Facebook and twitter.

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