Mine

Summer fading.
Winter creeping.
I feel each death a personal dying.
The grey sky, my sadly feathered nest.

All smells more poignant
as if to remind: enjoy us now, as we will pass you by, your lifeblood has limits, your hourglass has been turned, your life is uncertain, your fragility a guarantee.
Not unkindly they remind of days long gone,
times passed under the bridge like water never to return to us again.

A child birthed
A promise broken
A love lost
A meaningful encounter
An unknown piece of earth explored
Nevermore will these be as they were before.

They slip out of view as the passing seasons.
Leaving us longing for just one second,
just one more breath
in that space and time.

Where we once so confidently held on to the hourglass saying:
This is mine.

On Truth - Shantaram

How true this is:

There's a truth deeper than experience. It's beyond what we see, or even what we feel. It's an order of truth that separates the profound from the merely clever, and the reality from the perception. We're helpless, usually, in the face of it; and the cost of knowing it, like the cost of knowing love, is sometimes greater than any heart would willingly pay. It doesn't always help us to love the world, but it does prevent us from hating the world. And the only way to know that truth is to share it, from heart to heart, just as Prabhakar told it to me, just as I'm telling it to you now.