By Mottakinur Rahman
I. Past
Because the past exists, I may return—
not as a ghost, but ember's afterglow,
a flame that learns, in mirrored light, to burn
backward through all I used to know.
II. Future
Because the future waits, I hear its tide—
not as a threat, but as an unborn song
that hums in shells no waves have yet supplied,
still drawing forth the lines where dreams belong.
III. Present
But here—ah, here!—the miracle takes hold:
where fingers press the pulse of fleeting now,
where ink births worlds before the page turns cold,
where past and future meet and make their vow.
IV. Poem (Meta-Stanza)
This line, still wet, will fossilize too soon—
yet in its bones will thrum a deeper truth:
that when I wrote beneath a borrowed moon,
time stilled—and for one breath, I held my youth.
V. Legacy
What stays when all these syllables grow cold?
Not just the words, but how they made you feel—
the wound they kissed, the joy they dared to hold,
the part they touched you'd never thought to heal.
VI. Timeless
For in this act—this sacred, stubborn art—
we cheat the clock with every mark we make:
the past remade, the future’s beating heart,
all cradled in the hand that dared to break
the rule of hours... and in that break, took
eternity into a single look.