“So, in a curious lurid calm which could not last and yet, it seemed, could not end, the days went by.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Message to the Planet
We don’t speak, we don’t hate –
The silence is golden,
The absence of regret, welcoming.
There’s grief, and there’s pride
Prancing with past on their shoulders –
Their gait stemming from,
Several unseen falls, and tiny wins.
Future’s seat basks in the emptiness,
Shrouded in suspense –
Her presence echoes through,
Fleeting whispers and low murmurs.
There’s time, and there’s growth.
Our generous benefactor –
Sweet, merciless time that heralds
Growth – who is cruel and kind;
A teacher who wounds, to cure.
Present is an incoherent sophomore,
Glued to the room’s threshold.
And we don’t speak, we don’t hate –
For the silence is golden, and
The absence of regret, welcoming.
“Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.”
― Isaac Watts
Thoughtfully yours,
D
Random Specific Thoughts 
Leave a comment