“So, the night is mine,
all mine to ponder,
ponder upon the times that have passed away,
away and gone far.
Maybe quite far but not lost.

As the clock pendulums
and every time a story ends,
it brings forth all those memories
that were buried over the another.

The buried memories
burn me alive.
Am I settling things or
am I rattling my own pieces?
to create a noise inside my head
that comfortably numbs me from the weight.

The white noise of this numbness
turns into the whispering sound of the sand,
that slowly slips down
in the crystal hourglass.

This whispering from the each running sand grain
warps the time,
for it has slowed it down
for me,
to reconcile with my dreams,
to feel this life again with
a single thump of my heart.

That one single beat
embarks a new beginning
of a novel story
with concrete promises,
and a new hope
of a better tomorrow.

I wish to be given one more chance
to turn the side of the hourglass
with my own hands,
because there are memories,
feelings, emotions, sentiments,
mistakes and
days that I want to surpass.

But the pieces that fell apart
must be recollected,
for every piece
completes the story.
I have one of my own
the one which awaits to be told,
to unravel, to unfold.
It’s a story where I must first die,
only to be
Born, again!”

~ Kabir Malik
11th November, 2015