Time's Old Flute
What good days stand gay to thee?
What treasure dost thou seek each hour?
No wealth to man is ever so free,
No life is a road that's wrap'd with flowers.
Work is wealth when time approves,
Delayed task is garbage though.
World has wheels and so it moves,
Thou must scurry and catch the flow.
Hatch thy eggs ere 'tis late,
And all new lives are left to death.
Acts play wise sans arms of fate,
And life keeps counting jocund breaths.
What's for morrow must live today,
Today's crops must not be gleaned.
Time is wealthy; ne'er delay,
Walk forth fast thru' friends and fiends.
Fete the worth of hours thou breathe,
Reaping fruits of a diligent toil.
Let not limbs with hours just wreathe,
And leave fake prints on hallowed soil.
Prove they cost to the world that's brute,
Triumph each race with all delight.
Scamper though with time's old flute,
And reap thy fruits with wise insight. © Dipanjan Bhattacharjee