Broken time has no refined frames,
obvious form, unmeasured contents;
nothing of it frozen in historical frames.
Broken time; no resurrection of
withered eventualities.
Broken time has no eyes of it’s own,
introspecting eyes.
These eyes, sleepless eyes;
not born blind.
Alas! these have gone for penance,
multiple penance.
For good.
Who, then, trod it?
And who now tread it?

Broken time,
it’s shrinking shadows in the gaps,
it’s languishing sound in
the gaps,
it’s own eternal images in the gaps
it’s zigzagging, pimpled beauty in the gaps,
it’s hues in the gaps,
it’s exuberance in the gaps,
it’s emblems of piousness,
it’s visageless sound in the gaps,
it’s flirtatiousness in the gaps,
it’s inkiness in the gaps.

Broken time swells.
Broken time dwells.
Broken time blows.
Broken time glows.
Broken time whirls.
Broken time twirls.

Surging, surging, surging and thus surges
the broken time.
From a frameless history?
Or from the endless cosmos?
Or from a hibernating consciousness and
what lies beneath that?
Or from the chaotic, never evaporating unconsciousness
and what bares that?
Or from the orbit of time with it’s sprawling edges?

Don’t talk of our dreams.
Broken time drives our dreams to it’s own land.
Our dreams search a land of their own, for,
our dreams are such as none can vie with,
our dreams are such as none can clash with,
our dreams are such as none can cope with.
Our dreams search a land of their own, for,
the planet, the present one is too short for
the dreams,
the inhuman dimensions do unsettle the
human dimensions,
the littleness of our existence overshadows
the prodigious ingenuity, inherited,
our realities are too impotent to even
associate with our dreams.

BLURED DREAMS.
DREAMS BLURED.
BOTH BEREFT OF
STILTED REALITIES.
REALITIES IN ANGUISH.
DREAMS GUARD.
DREAMS AWAKEN.
REALITIES IN THEIR
GRAVEYARDS.

Broken time ensues the time that continues,
continues and continues.
Time continues and what remains there
in the chalice,
the chalice of broken time;
unalterable moments of history.
Which determinates which?
History making time or time making
history is indeterminable,
terminablely as indeterminable and
interminably as determinable as
what lie unclad in the cauldron
of broken time.