time

yesterday is a shadow

in the corner of today,

a ghost that lingers

in the dimming light,

its whispers etched

on the diaries of memory.

 

and tomorrow is a tide,

pulling the present toward its shore,

never stopping, never still,

yet always just beyond reach—

a promise, a mirage,

woven from the threads of longing.

 

the clock hands march,

relentless as fate,

while we chase the echoes

of moments already lost,

and dream of those

not yet born.

- by عربي (arabian)

Done