30.03., Omair Ahmad, Delhi.


“there will be time…”
I read that somewhere,
In a beautiful poem
About futility
And the littleness of men,
And, yes, I was won over,
Maybe by the beauty,
Maybe by words
I did not understand,
Maybe just by the sadness
That lay behind the poetry;
But time slips by,
There is not enough,
Or not the right kind,
Or is not there
Just when I need it;
It seems I have misplaced
A capacity to pause,
To stop,
To see
The tide of humanity
That I pass,
That passes me,
An inhuman monstrosity
Of faces, voices, demands,
Of things I should have done,
Had I taken the time,
Had I taken the time,
Had I taken the time.
I love you.
Let me pause, stop, say that.
I love you.
But I have not loved you.
I always thought
There would be time.

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