The Hourglass and the Eternal Flame
Upon a table, worn and old,
two figures sat, their stories told—
an Hourglass, with sands that flow,
and Flame, whose light refused to go.
The Hourglass spoke, its voice a sigh,
a whisper soft, yet stern and dry:
“Each grain that falls, a moment’s flight,
a breath, a heartbeat, lost to night.
I am the keeper of the end,
the silent guide, the unseen friend.
No hand can stay my steady stream,
no hope can halt time’s endless scheme.”
The Flame, it flickered, bold and bright,
its golden tongue a lance of light:
“You speak of endings, yet I burn,
undaunted by the tides that turn.
I am the spark that will not die,
the force that lifts the weary high.
Though sands may fall, and worlds may fade,
my light persists, unbound, unswayed.”
The Hourglass turned, its glassy face
reflecting time’s unyielding pace:
“But what of those who feed your glow?
Their lives are brief, their spirits slow.
You thrive on what they cannot keep—
their fleeting joys, their dreams, their sleep.
When they are gone, what then, oh Flame?
Will you not falter, dim, or wane?”
The Flame leapt higher, fierce and free,
a dance of pure vitality:
“I am not bound by mortal hands,
nor tethered to their shifting sands.
I am the spark within their chest,
the fire that drives them to their quest.
Though they may fade, their light lives on,
in every dusk, in every dawn.”
The Hourglass paused, its sands still streaming,
a river of time, forever dreaming:
“Yet even you must bow to change,
to cycles vast, to orbits strange.
The stars themselves, though bright and grand,
must one day fade at time’s command.
What makes you think, oh little Flame,
that you can outlast nature’s claim?”
The Flame burned steady, calm, assured,
its voice a hum, its tone matured:
“I do not claim to conquer time,
nor boast a light that’s more sublime.
But in the hearts of those who strive,
who dare to dream, who dare to thrive,
I find my fuel, my endless source,
a force beyond your measured course.
For though your sands may mark the end,
my light will always find a friend.”
And so they sat, the pair entwined,
one bound by time, one undefined—
the Hourglass, with its steady flow,
the Flame, with its eternal glow.
Together, they sang a timeless song,
of endings brief, and lifetimes long,
a dialogue of dark and light,
of fleeting days and endless night.
For in their clash, a truth was born,
a truth that mends the weary, worn:
Though time may fade, and shadows fall,
the Flame within outlasts it all.
two figures sat, their stories told—
an Hourglass, with sands that flow,
and Flame, whose light refused to go.
The Hourglass spoke, its voice a sigh,
a whisper soft, yet stern and dry:
“Each grain that falls, a moment’s flight,
a breath, a heartbeat, lost to night.
I am the keeper of the end,
the silent guide, the unseen friend.
No hand can stay my steady stream,
no hope can halt time’s endless scheme.”
The Flame, it flickered, bold and bright,
its golden tongue a lance of light:
“You speak of endings, yet I burn,
undaunted by the tides that turn.
I am the spark that will not die,
the force that lifts the weary high.
Though sands may fall, and worlds may fade,
my light persists, unbound, unswayed.”
The Hourglass turned, its glassy face
reflecting time’s unyielding pace:
“But what of those who feed your glow?
Their lives are brief, their spirits slow.
You thrive on what they cannot keep—
their fleeting joys, their dreams, their sleep.
When they are gone, what then, oh Flame?
Will you not falter, dim, or wane?”
The Flame leapt higher, fierce and free,
a dance of pure vitality:
“I am not bound by mortal hands,
nor tethered to their shifting sands.
I am the spark within their chest,
the fire that drives them to their quest.
Though they may fade, their light lives on,
in every dusk, in every dawn.”
The Hourglass paused, its sands still streaming,
a river of time, forever dreaming:
“Yet even you must bow to change,
to cycles vast, to orbits strange.
The stars themselves, though bright and grand,
must one day fade at time’s command.
What makes you think, oh little Flame,
that you can outlast nature’s claim?”
The Flame burned steady, calm, assured,
its voice a hum, its tone matured:
“I do not claim to conquer time,
nor boast a light that’s more sublime.
But in the hearts of those who strive,
who dare to dream, who dare to thrive,
I find my fuel, my endless source,
a force beyond your measured course.
For though your sands may mark the end,
my light will always find a friend.”
And so they sat, the pair entwined,
one bound by time, one undefined—
the Hourglass, with its steady flow,
the Flame, with its eternal glow.
Together, they sang a timeless song,
of endings brief, and lifetimes long,
a dialogue of dark and light,
of fleeting days and endless night.
For in their clash, a truth was born,
a truth that mends the weary, worn:
Though time may fade, and shadows fall,
the Flame within outlasts it all.
- Khushi Kaul
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