I knew the sand in my hand, would slip
It is eventually, never meant to stay
Why do I still, want to hold it there?
Why don’t I let it move away?
Is it some fault with my technique?
The more I fistify it,
the faster it checks out of my embrace,
and I just keep uttering,
HOLD ON to me till I see my grave…
What is it that makes me care?
Isn’t the sand found in abundance in atmosphere!!
What is it with this particular 10 grams?
It’s nothing except,
It has managed to stay this far...
Pondering over, years will it take....
But neither sand nor my fist ought to be blamed!!
For it is my foresightedness to be slammed,
Or maybe, I managed to replace the fore by hind
Willingness to hang-on gave it a tough fight!!
