Poem : In the hands of Time

 

      In the  hands of Time 

I saw her descending the winding stair,

With frills on her gown and curls in her hair.

She was beauty itself, an innocent sight,

A vision of purity, dressed all in white.

She filled my soul with wonder-struck light.

"Lead me," I whispered, "to the freezing Alps",

Where ancient culture crowns the mountain scalps.

But she waved her small hand with a smile so divine,

And whispered, "The path that I walk is not thine."

I traveled a distance, through years long and wide,

Until a lady appeared at my side.

She was dressed all in pink, and I reached for her hand,

To seek out the wonders of some distant land.

Of fashion and flavour, of all things refined,

I thought that in her, my new world was designed.

But her handshake was stern as she turned from my side;

Then came the twilight, the end of my years,

When a lady in blue appeared through my fears.

"Would you hold me?" I asked, and she firmly took hold,

To show me the secrets the Eiffel Tower  could unfold.

I looked through her eyes like a child full of awe,

The rising sun, the moon’s soft light looked anew .

I was a child again, though my hair was grey,

Finding the soul I’d lost along the way.

I painted and listened to music’s sweet strain,

And forgot "January" for "Janvier’s" domain.

Then came the storm, a whistling, whirling gale,

A whirlwind turned the blue horizon pale.

In the spinning dark, I lost her steady hand;

The Lady in Blue vanished from my land.

I searched the shadows, frantic and alone,

Until I saw her perched upon a stone.

High above the world, where jewels  dwell,

She stood upon the rock to say farewell.

"Adieu," she called, as the mist began to rise,

Leaving me with the light she’d put in my eyes.

- Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya

27.01.2026