… a poem by Anjum Alam
Time is running
It runs out of the vibrant
Green fields of ambition and
Into desperate moors of falsity
Set off by an act of bravado
Instinct and Intuition
Pair up by chance
Rather than choice
Compressed quietly
In constant dissonance
The journey to contentedness
Molds to that of a river bend
Meanders in every which way
Twisted into a path of confusion
Littered with pebbles of ruination
Unbeknownst to time
Instinct and Intuition
Remain on the prowl
Searching for opportunities
Of intrigue and distinction
The voyager holds their head steady
In loyalty to the craft
But never in submission
It balances tumultuously with
The hubris of innocence
Pride, however, is cradled dearly
In the heart of the voyager
It carries both the grace of defiance
And the parasitical nature of denial,
Different only in perception
Time, now used,
Vanishes quickly
It carries on in gentle hunger,
Tugged in every direction
Except forward