THE TIDE OF TIME

Time is such a deceptive concept – but then again, that’s all it is… a concept.

It has different moods, and plays different roles; sometimes solemn, sometimes frivolous; sometimes a healer (or mostly, just a drug); and sometimes a nagger.

It takes different forms, like water;coming like the waves that break upon the shore, and sometimes like a flood that smashes the jags and rocks.

At times it is on a run against itself, and at others, it tests every ounce of your patience until it does show up, defiant and proud, almost laughing at your face, for it is also an athlete, or a tardy, awaited little trickster, depending on its mood.

One thing is for sure – it loves to play games.

Time knows its power. It can evaluate the effect it has, the honour it commands and can, and does, use this power amply to its favour.

Time mocks and soothes, teaches and screws; for it always, always wins. Always.

Unconquerable and mighty, Time sits on a throne placed on the pedestal of prayers and hopes and beggary, of the multitudes depending upon its mercy.

It is everything and nothing at once. Time is God – with a debatable existence, a formless perception, and ageless in itself; and Time is dust, abstract, unnoticeable, unheeded and well, largely neglected.

Yet despite it all, one thing that time is, constantly, is ‘felt’; for time exists within emotions.

It is the plea of the farmer for the good grain;

the longing of the desert for a bout of rain;

the prayer of parted love birds to unite again;

the desperation of the prisoner, bound in chains.

Time is hope and time is pain;

time is loss… and time is gain….

© Isha Garg

Doodle by Isha Garg