The Hour Glass

Fiddling, fidgeting with, far-flung terrains;

Mountains, plateaus and plains.

Sometimes in fun, sometimes ferociously,

Forever favourite of his own.

Faltering man, foolishly crowned himself the greatest masterpiece

By the Creator of all,

Forwarded his fateful feet

On far-flung, majestically spreading sand dunes.

Gritty, coarse, fine, powdery, loose and grainy stuff

Caught his greedy, selfish eye.

Meddled with almost whatever pristine nature has to cater;

Be it tall, sturdy, tall trees in the darkest woods,

Clear, crystal water of untamed, undefiled rivers in ravines

Or flowing down stout, sky-kissing mountain heights,

Rocks or stones spread on earth's even, untouched expanses.

Now walking on the powdered brown sugar,

His mind was racing

How to put a blanket of that brown candy floss to use,

Since use and throw was the only policy he knew.

Curiosity in him grew,

Creativity in him being innate.

He sat pondering on golden, shimmering, uniform sand,

When he heard a sage pass by,

Asking him what’s bothering him.

He should be on his way before sand froze,

As the sands of time were ticking away.

The man now had what he needed.

Now he wished to cage the wind-blown, compact stuff

In two glass bulbs

Conjoined by a narrow neck.

Master of gravity,

He converted the once wild sand

Into a time-telling device.

Stupid as he is,

He smiled and patted his own back

To be able to track and tame

Both the constantly fleeting time

And the once freely and evenly spread sand.

The poor vain man,

Who was as if oblivious to his own mortality,

Slept that night feeling inflated with pride

And his chest puffed up

To never ever wake up again,

As beating of his heart had turned static

Sometime in the dead of the night,

While sand in the hourglass

Was still slowly slipping by,

Indicating the moments

Being faster fleeting by.