Time is a Strange Companion

Time is a strange companion that follows us faithfully
And without us knowing, plunges us into Life itself
It carries us like lovers without passion and love
But follows us constantly – Delicately
We are not separate bodies but belong to it immediately
In a sea of time movement. Washed adrift – Lost in Time
But we are invidious lovers for it never truly belongs to us
Above all – we are casualties of its love and tenderness.

Time is lied to and lies to us. And we know not who prevails
Not knowing who serves or is served: Master or Slave
Neither one made happy or sad. But a constant inquiry
With no form of relief. Even as we cry out for answers.

Time presents us with images as we grow older and greyer
Moving us with mutual queries and doubts
Of what is close or distant, new or old, actual or virtual
We are folded under a fabric of images in time and movement

We create and erase Time. Lying open to images intimately
And the flowing of these images besieged our common senses
Every image forms a sequence. Every sequence forms a scene
Every scene forms an image. And that becomes us constantly

Time is a strange companion that follows us faithfully
And without us knowing, plunges us into Life itself
It carries us like lovers without passion and love
But follows us constantly – Delicately

We are not separate bodies but belong to it immediately
In a sea of time movement. Washed adrift – Lost in Time
But we are invidious lovers for it never truly belongs to us
Above all – we are casualties of its love and tenderness.

Time is lied to and lies to us. And we know not who prevails
Not knowing who serves or is served: Master or Slave
Neither one made happy or sad. But a constant inquiry
With no form of relief. Even as we cry out for answers.

Time presents us with images as we grow older and greyer
Moving us with mutual queries and doubts
Of what is close or distant, new or old, actual or virtual
We are folded under a fabric of images in time and movement

We create and erase Time. Lying open to images intimately
And the flowing of these images besieged our common senses
Every image forms a sequence. Every sequence forms a scene
Every scene forms an image. And that becomes us constantly

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