Timeless Time

"Thou art Him", enunciates our scriptures.
Can we mere mortals, comprehend this magnum opus?
It is sheer madness even to ponder over such heavenly things.
But yes.
We are mortals.
We shall be impudent.
We shall be absurd and obnoxious to the zenith of horrendous audacity.
We are His strings.
He, the Artist of this Mankind, thrums the strings.
He thrums it.
We sing it.
We are the mere musical notes of Him.
The Virtuoso.
We schlep by time.
The execrable time.
A flower if I am, time blights me.
I lose my redolence.
I lose my resplendence.
I lose my existence.
Time is intangible.
But it is besmeared on each of our foreheads.
He besmears it.
This, our fate.
He spurns us like a cur out of His way.
He loves us like His own genes, bestows His Grace.
But He loses Himself for time.
The serrated edges of time cut through His ever resilient palms.
Plunder Him of His own existence.
The all-ravaging Time.
The all-pervading Time.
The Timeless Time.