The Texture Of Time

A path of sand leads the way –
For devotees up to the temple,
Path embraces footprints,
In return pacifies their feet.

The shore that hides shellfish,
Locks in its chest many a memories,
Of bright evenings with kin,
Even after they go under tombs.

Babies wriggle on the mud,
Children build castles on the beach,
As men, they build brick-houses, and –
A handful of sand is sprinkled on their corpses.

Dust covers the great statues,
Pages of books mix with dirt,
Trace of human slowly gets buried,
Under a texture that smoothes even a rock.

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