New York Pitch Conference Reviews, Algonkian Writer Conferences, and Poetry Forums

The days pass in a hurry
why do they?
Could they not take time
to breathe, to enjoy?
Ever on the run, they
flow into months,
thereon to years.

It is as though
the day before
I got admitted in school.
Now my grandson
is going to complete schooling
I wink in a blink. Silence!
A great deal has flown.

I feel that my eldest
was born yesterday.
Oh! no he is a grown up man
well into the forties.
Imagine me! Graying
and losing vigour. Quiet!
An ocean in between.

The days run in speed,
will win gold in the Olympics
once they participate,
surpassing the best athletes .
Never do the days practice,
an entry assures a victory. Hush!
The peak is steep!