Pause for a moment,
Tally your figures till the present,
Commit to memory the days,
Spent rushing at a frenetic pace.
Hours frittered,
Thoughts littered.
The dichotomy of time and its place,
An elbow and a fist ahead of the race.
Blinded by the shimmering oasis of predictability,
You ran, gasped and ran some more in pursuit of propriety.
Happiness delayed and postponed,
Elegies sprout from your lips stoned.
“Perhaps” you say “this is how it is supposed to be”
As holding a whiskey you pee.
So your epitaph sums,
Amidst the crash of drums,
“Herelies somebody, ahead of the rest by a knee,
As for his dreams, well they just weren’t meant to be.”

