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Blue Butterfly

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Time— running elusive (Caption) Why we are so obsessed with things around us, which reminds us of the passing times—the watches, the clocks, a calendar ? We are so obsessed to-be-date; The slow moving watches are keyed everytime, the ones ain't tick-tocking mended with replaced batteries and the dead ones been thrown away, without even a second thought; the calendar pages torn off, to keep in pace with each passing month etc. We have been programmed since birth to run our life with time. The changing seasons: spring, summer, autumn, winter; the day and the night, all in tandem. Time has been imposed upon us like an evil punishment. If we are behind the running times, we are considered socially misfit. It starts upfront from the time (the auspiciousness) we are born, crawl, walk, eat, talk, study, job, marriage and follows unto death (Leave alone many other such beautiful life events, short lived). Death alone seems transcends the continuance of time. For the dead, time never holds any significance. But the alive still chases the dead ones with time—hiring photographers to the funerals capturing those high pitched wailing, theatrics and amusing pleading to the deceased, to rise back from the dead. Blessed seems the ones who get hit by a coconut for no reason or who jump off the buildings. How wonderful it would have been if time (which keeps an itching account and measuring gauge of the success rush of each individual's life) was devoid of this mad rush ? Hopefully then, eating food, being with friends/family, reading a book and writing a poetry would have remained more meaningful.  Every single breathe taken in and out counted not in times, but in death remembering— a life, how well lived.

Time— running elusive (Caption) Why we are so obsessed with things around us, which reminds us of the passing times—the watches, the clocks, a calendar ? We are so obsessed to-be-date; The slow moving watches are keyed everytime, the ones ain't tick-tocking mended with replaced batteries and the dead ones been thrown away, without even a second thought; the calendar pages torn off, to keep in pace with each passing month etc. We have been programmed since birth to run our life with time. The changing seasons: spring, summer, autumn, winter; the day and the night, all in tandem. Time has been imposed upon us like an evil punishment. If we are behind the running times, we are considered socially misfit. It starts upfront from the time (the auspiciousness) we are born, crawl, walk, eat, talk, study, job, marriage and follows unto death (Leave alone many other such beautiful life events, short lived). Death alone seems transcends the continuance of time. For the dead, time never holds any significance. But the alive still chases the dead ones with time—hiring photographers to the funerals capturing those high pitched wailing, theatrics and amusing pleading to the deceased, to rise back from the dead. Blessed seems the ones who get hit by a coconut for no reason or who jump off the buildings. How wonderful it would have been if time (which keeps an itching account and measuring gauge of the success rush of each individual's life) was devoid of this mad rush ? Hopefully then, eating food, being with friends/family, reading a book and writing a poetry would have remained more meaningful.  Every single breathe taken in and out counted not in times, but in death remembering— a life, how well lived.