The Time Is...

By Amlan Hossain

It’s always midnight on the edge of a leaf,

Where clouds drift thick and green,

And thoughts roll like papers in the wind,

Twisting, folding, catching fire

In the furnace of my skull.

Here, the hour is a quiet ember,

Burning slow, trailing sparks of wonder,

As reality curls up and fades into ash.

I hold the universe between thumb and finger,

A delicate balance of space and flame,

Letting the stars flicker in my breath.

Each exhale is a whisper to the void,

Each inhale is a universe reborn.

It’s strange—how silence hums loudest

When the mind untethers,

Floating like dandelion seeds

Across the vast savannahs of time.

The hours stretch thin,

Warped and bent like rays of light

Through thick glass bottles,

The world looks a little softer,

Edges blurred,

As if truth lies not in sharpness

But in the soft tilt of perception.

And so I drift, weightless,

I never thought I could feel lighter

Than I already am.

Thoughts caught in the gravity of deep pulls,

Tugged by the orbit of questions

That spiral ever inward.

The meaning of life?

It’s a sweet vapour that vanishes

The moment you try to hold it.

Here, time drips like liquid glass,

Each drop is a question unanswered.

As the universe chuckles quietly,

Its vastness is a grand stage

With no script, no plot,

Just an endless improvisation

Where meaning is a guest star

That never quite shows up.

The lighter flickers, igniting dreams

That curl and dance in smoky swirls,

Every puff is a riddle in the void,

A subtle nod to the futility

Of chasing meaning in a fleeting show.

Each puff is a cosmic joke,

Where the punchline is that there is no punchline,

Just a punchy haze of uncertainty.

Here, time stretches like

A well-chewed gum,

A sweet elastic pull of absurdity,

Where the hours melt like wax

In this theatre of the absurd.

The high is a gentle cosmic shrug,

A softening of reality's sharp edges,

Where meaning dissolves like sugar in coffee,

Leaving only the bitter aftertaste of nothingness.

I catch a glimpse of something clearer,

Like the world seen without

My medical glasses-

Distorted, but somehow real

Maybe more than before.

And maybe that’s the trick.

The truth isn’t found in harsh daylight

But in the gentle fog

That softens what we think we know.

The universe chuckles in its dark corner,

Watching us chase shadows and echoes,

Working for money, getting paid with fatigue,

Playing hide and seek with purpose

In a game with no winners.

So here I sit,

At the crossroads of night and morning,

Lost but grounded,

The clock’s hands are a little blur,

Yet, I know the time.

The time is 4:20 AM.

By Amlan Hossain