The Clock’s Hunger

I looked at the clock on the wall,

its thin, black hands moving like silent scissors,

cutting away pieces of my life

while I was busy checking my phone.

Every "tick" is a door closing,

every "tock" is a memory turning into dust.

I am a man of character,

working hard to build a future that is always tomorrow.

But I forget that today is a gift

that I am opening with closed eyes.

No status can buy back the sunrise I missed,

no empty degree can explain why I spent my youth

waiting for a "perfect time" that never arrived.

I squeezed my eyes,

tightly pushing my palms together.

I wanted to grab the pendulum,

to hold the grit of the seconds

and force them to stay.

But time has no loyalty to kings or poets.

It just flows,

indifferent to our plans,

unmoved by our tears.

I realized that we don't "have" time.

We are time.

And once a moment is breathed,

it belongs to the universe, not to us.

Success is not how much you finish.

It is how much you lived

while you were doing it.

Stay firm in your art.

Stay loyal to the "Now."

The universe is not waiting for your success.

It is waiting for your presence.