TIME. There is a time for production on earth A time for volcanoes to bring forth Heat and smoke and the soup of life Ready to congeal for the creations A time to be born and a time to die Without leaving footprints In the sands of the time. Perhaps it was a dusty hidden path Only traversed by the spider’s feet. Peopled planets and particles in fullness Bones skeletoned and tusks turned aback Ready now for some mittened source A cycle to complete, a way to destruct Where destinies and constructions Perhaps will mingle and meet. Within mirror shifter of the shapes Unison in polemics of the fate Shouldered obstacles of winged creatures Floating alone above the sunset landscape. Durlabh Singh.