Sands so fine, I see,
Slowly slipping,
From the hands of mine.
Oh it looks so divine.
Let me keep it, it'll be mine.
I squeeze my palm tight.
And more of it flows fast.
Uncontrolled grains,
So white, soft and pure.
Dry, yet smells of the sea water,
To which it belongs.
For which its heart longs.
Again I squeeze my palm tight.
Slipping, it shined in the light.
With the greed to hold on,
Tried to stop it from flowing.
But it does not stop going.
I opened the first to see,
Not much left in my hand.
It had all gone,
Despite my efforts.
Closed palm, was not its home.
It moved on, fell to the ground
Happy to be with the same kind around.
Did I lose it?
Did it never belong to me?
Or did I have the right to stop it?
It never stopped anyway.
Now again,
I have some sand.
Gathered in my hand.
I don’t close my palm,
But observe how slowly it slipped.
There was no hurry,
And the grains were at ease.
I knew I can only watch on,
The gracious move of it flow down.
But cannot hold on to it.
I smiled, and it was true.
We cannot hold on,
To things which are meant to move.
My palm so soft,
Most of it was gone by now.
What was it that the sand contained?
May be time, I thought,
As I let go the ones that remained.
