The days are getting longer and longer, Sun staying out as bright as ever, birds chirping, winds blowing, But there is not a single human soul outside. The once-bustling streets now lay empty devoid of their magnificent beauty, On one hand, it is good, the once dusty roads and gardens look fresher than ever, but again the lack of action makes it all depressing, Like a desolate town, no sign of life present except the wilderness.
But all of this is now for the greater good, for survival. For ensuring that we survive and not become a part of the desolation. Everything comes at a price, sometimes it’s material and sometimes it leads to a loss of lives. But as everything works, the cost has to be borne by us. Because it is due to our actions the consequences are such.
Time is wicked. Slow as syrup when we are young, tricking us into believing this is the way it will always be like a smooth river. We will have time to love, laugh, fuck up, recreate, explore and imagine. And also have time to redefine and reinvent ourselves. We waste our minutes, our days. We do not notice how it slips away. And then one day, suddenly, there isn’t enough time for anything.
The minutes go by much too quickly, the hours even faster. One year bleeds into another until they all melt together like the colours in a painting.
Not enough time to take back the regrets or find new love. Not enough time to think a simple pleasing thought or enjoy how the breeze bends the tips of the trees. And we mourn and we try to tell the young, “Don’t waste your time. It’s not enough. It will go by quickly. Don’t squander it”. But we don’t relate the news with urgency. We don’t try to make them see the emergency of the slippage of time. And we watch with envy as they dance, sing, and love.
But with what little we have, in the end, we should make the most of it. And Cherish every little moment. For we never know when we are going to turn into dust and become a part of the same desolation.