Yesterday Of Time Poem by Bernedita Rosinha Pinto

Yesterday of time has waited for no one,
tomorrow of the night will also not pause for anyone;
days will dawn, nights will fall, unceasingly
with new eventualities arising dramatically;

and whether it is the ice that chills the corpse
or whether it is the fire that incinerates the dead,
life will move like a canoe oaring its way slowly and softly
wading thro the waters of the rivers and lakes
trying to reach that bank or that little shore
where it's master will tie it with a rope to some pole or tree
so that it does not drift away;

and when the master will get back to his home
he will light the gas stove and fry the catch
that his fishnet has captured
so that in the labyrinth of sleep he snores
with no hunger pangs awakening him;

while on the other side of the bridge
sits a rich man and waits for his meal;
he has not gone fishing or shopping
yet he will eat fish which others will fry
and prepare for him;

rich people always boasts of their wealth and health,
of their food habits and their tastes;
a rich man always encourages his own appetite
and satisfies most of his cravings
with the opulence he holds in his hands.

But at the end of the day all men
whether rich or poor utter their prayers;
some thank God for what they have yet ask for more,
some feel relieved to fall on their bed
and get a goodnight sleep
as exhausted they feel after a hard day's work;

and while some enjoy relaxing at home
some yearn to go on a holiday,
yet some just want to die and go away
as unsuccessful they have been in their entire life.

And as the poorest just keep whining
and questioning their fate,
time waits for no men or his aspirations;
as those many facets and events keep swiveling
the journey of life with melodrama or harsh realities;

and only one word speaks without sound or noise
instructing man to "breathe"
it tells the nose silently to inhale and exhale;

while old age whispers to every men
whether rich or poor -" just die and vanish
before you turn into a rock or a stone";

as when one is as bed-ridden or a corpse
with respiration or without breath,
man becomes obsolete in his activeness
as inertia and momentum gives no support to his zest.

And while life always chooses to move on
and makes place for others to come and enjoy
the splendor and glamour of this world,
this universe remains endless and fascinating

yet centuries keep tilting the decades
and bringing one life or other to its final end
and on the wall in that frame hangs a photo
which reveals the identity and story of the one
who has long demised yet he too struggles
to be remembered by those who look at him
and even urges them to say a prayer for his soul.