Dusting off my dream

The Age of Time

Inside the Cosmic Bag

I dare to dream that stale dream

That has been buried under the despair.

I suffered a colossal setback

And bruised my ego.I will dust off my dream

And reinforce my vision.

The age is just the number,

The hope cannot be encumbered.

It is never too late to dream

The validity of dreams is timeless.

I would like to cushion a dream into my heart

To hoist my chest high up in an emotional

turmoil.

The Tsunami of hopelessness

entered into the foyer of my life

But I am being buoyant,

To be able to afloat like a lotus.

Learning the art of living is a must

To patch up the torn dream.

What time did the time exist?

I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

I am conceptually mired in imagination

And timelessly baffled to find time.

The womb of time

is timelessly designed

But I don’t know the designer

Whose elixir of intelligence created it.

If I were to live longer than the stars

I would have witnessed the death of the stars

Under my watch.

I will be decayed in the cosmic graveyard

Long before those stars.

I am always what I am,

The universe is always the same.

It is just the transformation

Which defines the time.

I was born in one pocket

I don’t know other pockets

May be similar me is there

And thinking similarly

But we die even not realising

our co-existence

Inside the different pockets

Of cosmic bag.

The cosmic ocean is infinite

The cosmological islands are floated

But our life is ruthlessly short

To reach out there and explore

The celestial magnificence.