Time, the Traitor, and the Traitor is Me by Arushi Misra SignUp

Time, the Traitor, and the Traitor is Me
Arushi Misra Bookmark and Share

Today morning I woke up at 5 o clock, with a mysterious yet good positive energy in me. Today was my final exam of management, so my body alarm treated me well and good and in time. Morning life is indeed is beautiful. It is a time so fresh, when your mind is more of a blotting paper, it makes you learn and grasp things so fast. A good time it is, to revise for your exams. After keeping food for the birds on the roof boundary, and filling up the wide mouthed big earthen pot with water for birds to drink, I settled down with my bunch of books and registers and notes to start the revision. The quiet morning life was calmed and mollified by the beautiful melody of birds.

Before the silence of the morning gets scary, and starts filling up the void between the obvious silence and the dangerous one, the melody of birds calms it down by giving it a soft music. The unprecedented silence catches the flow of morning beauty before falling down from the grace and becoming serious and grave. It can be said, “a silence with a beautiful rhyme...”, as if the birds catch down the falling beauty of silence and take it along with their flight and rhyme. It aligns your soul with the flight of birds above.

The melodious silence held and sung by the birds was flowing in the mesmerizing scenery of those scattered white cotton clouds. The beautiful clouds looked like they just woke up, with the morning sun adding its shades of orange to tell them about the rising dawn. The moon was shining bright in that departing and fading twilight. It was bright enough to look like it is giving away all silver it had, before it fades away in the bright- golden glamour of the sunshine. The calm and peaceful morning, an amazing time it was.

Down the road, people were working out, walking, cycling, and some going to the stadium to add sport and sweat to their mornings. All clean newspaper hawkers with their hair properly parted with oil, were paddling away to do their job. The tea stall down my house was starting to get vociferous with the noise of utensils, and flowing water, and the kettle. Since the world I live in , is not all that beautiful as I am describing right now, and I felt that way, a little disturbance was added to that feel with the honking cars, power bikes of philanders looking for their part time mates, and that smoke of burning debris in the air. The debris which was scattered by the over-active city celebrating their evening lives daily, as a festival. Festival may sound a little good, just assume that they don’t hold the hedonist within them back, they get more and want more and forget about the little things they should care about, like throwing their crap in the dustbins.

I don’t intend to divert from my topic, if you’re already out of mine. That time was extraordinarily peaceful and calm. My suddenly turned optimistic heart (Which is when NOT pessimistic, don’t ask) made me fall in love with that time. It even made me write a banal, boring yet beautiful poetry on “Time”.

Time is a beautiful thing
Not those quantified numbers
Ticking away in the air
For me, it’s the Sun rising up
And the Sun setting down
It’s the night setting in
The starry darkness profound
It’s the seasons falling in place
In this illusionary hazel sky
In a mysteriously sequential rhyme
All seasoning me in their own sweet time
The moment now, just a second ago
The one that’s passed away right now
Or, is it coming up with a glow?
That passes away with the “tint” of chime
I call those moments, the invisible time
Time indeed, is a beautiful charm
That doesn’t ticks away or passes by
But comes with a smile and goes with a sigh
Time is the charm of moments
Flying a bird’s flight
The illusion that blows with winds
It’s an invisible plight
Time is indeed, a beautiful mirage
That sways me forward in a new present
A black and white memory residing in stars
An invigorator to each arriving second
Time was then when my heart broke bad
It stayed and slowed, it became my friend
When no one was there, in the forlorn rain
It was time that healed my pain
Time made happiness happen
By flowing away with the rush
Time is when I live it
Time is when it lives me
My best friend that will stay
Till my last breath I breathe….” 

“A poem, it looks like. But if I come straight to it, it rather had a convoluted effect on my exam and the sequential rhyme was disturbed. During that three-hour war with time, which apparently is my best friend in those verses I wrote, it made itself a vociferous and a rather disturbing rhyme. It flabbergasted me, baffled me by its treachery. It did not accompany me.”- This WAS, the complain after my exam. But after writing a few more, I realized that time was walking its own pace. It was ME who did not handle it correct. It was ME who took it for granted and never respected it, but now, I respect time, my best friend that’s their with me all the “time” I am alone. 

After writing a few more exams, I took my lesson and completed my paper. On “Time”, the mechanical one.  That day later in the evening the moon was at its time, the stars were waking up on their own time, the wind was blowing in its own time, the birds were chirping away to their nests in their own time, the sunflowers were glowing and beaming under the silver of the moon, but they too had their own time. Now, I’ll have my own time. Without letting a second of it waste away, I’ll invigorate each second of my time with me, my life. I’ll create memories, I’ll create achievements. I’ll live my time, I’ll live my life. No one is going to stop me from doing that. With a smile, I get up, wiping the tears off my face… time, buddy, I am sorry. I love you, here I am, you’re all mine and I am all yours.  

Share This:
More by :  Arushi Misra
Views: 1339      Comments: 0

Name *
Email ID
 (will not be published)
Verification Code*
Can't read? Reload
Please fill the above code for verification.

2018 All Rights Reserved
No part of this Internet site may be reproduced without prior written permission of the copyright holder