Opening the doors,
To the world of loss;
Time remains the master,
For all things that matter.

Struggling like in hell,
With no voice to tell;
Life forms the bricks,
To fill up the tracks.

Nature is at war,
While man bears the scar;
Past changed to myths,
As Future moved to depths.

Present is like a popcorn,
While man's life-that of a newborn;
For every breath is a gift,
That can be swept away in a swift.

© Anjali Krishnan