Towns chime with the wake of eve
Horse carts trotting past,
A hundred years, now skyscrapers cleave
The landscape that won’t last.
Won’t last, nothing won’t last on Earth
Neither this country side,
Nor the thrumming beat of youth
Nor havens of kings pride.
The wielders of powers- sorry victims
For, faceless forces watch.
Monuments, imperialists’ pilgrims
Tumble to sands that scorch.
A faceless force, a formless face,
A power unboasting, mounting.
Breathing eternal in silence
Time- profoundly felt, caught not in sighting.
All that shouts and breaks the throne
With iron claws that clasp,
Come tomorrow must yield and be gone
Void in place of its harsh rasp.
Boast, boast all you must with your counted breath,
Timed years, say a thousand.
But the unseen king dons the unseen wreath-
Tomorrow turns empires to sand.
© 2019 Sahana Narendran