Echoes Of Time

Whistling sounds of the sorrows,

The wind would pass through the morrows,

No time to stop,

As it continues its path,

The path carved beneath,

Laid down just for it,

Rushing tune comes from afar,

It returns,

look over its shoulders,

With the mishap left behind,

No longer in its eyes,

Deemed luminary,

The idleness erased above,

Picked up just for I,

Runes it stays, futile I must say,

Fester on in time, sits through decay.

By Sarah Shahzad, July 2024