Musings Over A Passing Day

Musings Over A Passing  Day prose poem

Uploaded by Dr.Indu Nautiyal

It’s the new year eve
once again
and I am happy
but a little pensive too .
Silently I hear the clock ticking
and watch the tiny moments
slipping from my hand
like the grains of sand
in the hour glass.
Time — the mightiest Truth
subject of perennial search
wrapped in mysterious mist
defies all human intelligence
trying to define its inscrutable ways .
I often wonder –
How its unseen hands
Manage this vast universe
its varied live stock
and even inanimate things .
Like a traveller ever on move
it goes on forging ahead
Turning days into months and years
centuries and millennia .
On what fateful day of yore
did it start its unique voyage
what undiscovered continent
is it headed to ?
And here we are trying
to bound its eternal run
into man made frames of tenses
called past, present and future
But where are the lines of difference
or do they really exist ?
I doubt if they do .
My mind is dwelling again
on this unsolved riddle
about the curious nature of Time
that seems beyond the knowledge
of all the ages so far .
As to how its magic wheel
carries us all along
through the cycle of past and present
and the future still unknown .

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Dr.Indu Nautiyal

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I have been a teacher for about four decades ,but even more than that , a student and learner all along --literature being my favourite subject with special love for poetry , a trait I seem to have inherited from my father,who was a very good poet ,it was he that instilled in me a deep love for poetry early in childhood . Starting as a science student ,I shifted to literature after graduation and and worked on Emily Dickinson's poetry for Doctoral degree. I don't claim to be a poet ,but do admit my inherent love for poetic utterances as and when I find them and sometimes feel inspired to give vent to my own emotions in words that seem to convey them .Honestly it happens quite effortlessly and also leaves me with an immense satisfaction .If it can be termed poetry ,all the more rewarding. .
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