Cure or Curse?

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  Time - A Cure or a Curse? 



‘Time’ another term for recover,

A medicine to the hurt which never heals,

Slowly, like the curtain falls to end the show,

The wounded marks, it conceals.

 

Time, a strange reality,

Both familiar and distant,

An unknown essence,

A gift and curse, of mortality.

 

Time weaves the parts of a broken soul,

The stitch of the needle of years,

The soft cloth of experience,

The disappearing rhythm of tears.

 

A young girl’s flawless public façade,

Hid her heartbroken state,

One caused by trust that was betrayed.

Neither, truth nor love, could heal the cracks,

Now placed on the restless heart,

That beat with a toneless rhythm.

 

And so, all she could do was wait,

Everyday, at the crack of dawn,

The ache would return.

Until, one morning, when the heart no longer ached.

Time had found a way,

To tape the shattered pieces of the lonely, broken heart,

Just as a river finds its way, cutting through rocks.

 

When the truth hurts,

Time makes us forget.

When the lie hurts,

Time brings the truth.

 

When nothing works,

Time spreads its hands,

Like a mother might cover her child’s wound,

Time covers the scar of pain, turning it to a mark of beauty.

 

When love, hate, truth, and lies leave us,

Time comes back to stop, the once never ending pain.

 

However, with all this,

Time can too increase the loss of pain,

It may nourish the seeds of greed and envy,

It may increase the hatred of the vain.

 

Time never plays for anyone,

It speaks for none.

Time decides for itself,

Through the course of life,

To either apply the medicine or the burn. 

 

 

- Shriya Nauhria


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