“A Short Prose on Time”

A Short Prose on Time



Time is a river, unending and irrevocable.

In the relentless and irreversible flow of Time, human beings are merely leaves and foam, floating ceaselessly and helplessly, from the past, through the present, into the future, stringless, unable to cling to anything. Sometimes, we are submerged; sometimes, we momentarily break through the surface. From sunrise to sunset, with the tide floods and ebbs, we float into the diminishing distance, to an unknown shore, with the echoes of the past constantly ringing in the ears – memories whisper to and encroach upon anguished minds.

Unable to freeze Time or to escape from it, humanity is essentially reduced to a series of empty gestures, wearied efforts, which dissolve into a myriad of ridiculous motions. Unable to unravel Time, we stare emptily at the sky, stagnated, entrapped in inquietude, frustration, and madness. Thus, human beings’ consciousness of time is filled with futility; we are hopelessly encaged in our temporality, with blood and soil tainted on our remembrances.

Time melted, memory blossomed, thoughts and sensations intermingled. What was left in the end was the faint smell of the gray honeysuckle, of the trees in the rain, and the firelight, residing in the eternally scarred and bleeding memories.



2023/12/30