Gone With The Wind

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The sands of time
Are slipping through my fingers,
Their lingering heat
In my bones
Makes me want to hold on
For a few moments longer,
To recapture and savour
The bygones,
I chase the winds
That carry those sands on their wings,
But as they gradually drop and cease to be
My legs give way, I stop
And unsteadily sway
In anticipation of a fall,
But soon I’m sinking
Into a quicksand of memories.
Alarmed, I grope for an anchor,
But my hold on reality is tenuous
At best, and ephemeral,
And furthermore
The panic-induced struggle
Only serves to tighten the jaws of sand;
Oh, I’d now give anything
For them to slip past the palms of my hands.
This realization, this epiphany
Is a moment of lucidity
Whence I regain my sanity
And my mind pushes back the instinct;
Calmly, I desist fretting
And free myself from the quicksand.
Now, walking towards land,
I feel the winds picking up momentum
And forcing the sands
To slip through my fingers;
Once again,
I relish in the heat
That lingers, and move on
Toward newer pastures.
– Akanksha Gupta

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