THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Two millenniums passed by
under the watchful eye of Mr. Time,
many civilizations mushroomed, following a pattern
which can be classified from boom to decline.

History's timeline decorated with a spectrum of events
from the battles to the peace times,
comedic how humans seamlessly adapted
not to forget this race created the Divine.

Like an incandescent light bulb, it dawned on them;
nature, no matter how beautiful or strong was mortal,
an impending sense of doomsday sent shivers,
now, they created a belief called the afterlife.

The forehead creases mirrored that of a farmer
watching goats and praying for rain,
while staring at the dry skies across the mountains
far as their eyes could take.

The eyes in search of hope creating hope,
but when it would arrive, none could tell.
They survived on a promissory note, called tomorrow,
They were funny at times, Extremely, I swear.

Idle minds creating a façade
treating today like an advertisement to a great play
titled – In tomorrow, we believe, so why do it today?
Chaos reigned, but they did not fail.

They survived centuries and still survived
may not be the same as the ancients did,
It was the trust in fellow humans that worked,
trust is the blessing of the rational mind.

In happiness, sadness and all, they sailed
They had emotions ranging from love and hate.
No fear of exposure to sunlight, snow or rain
enjoying the end of October. Playing the game.

They lived, both the masters and the slaves alike
as far as they lived, they felt alive.
They forgot to code hope in our system, never mind.
They were a kind. We are going to miss them.