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Backwards

If one day,
Somebody turns the switch,
And time starts moving backward,
How would the world be?

Zombies would be the start to life,
and you shall be buried inside your mother’s womb,
Your carefree days would mostly be bedridden,
And your last days the most exciting.

Accidents would unhappen,
And you’d wait for natural disasters to be unborn,
Diseases will suddenly attack at peak and die off with time,
Perhaps you’d start to live if you had died.
And that would all feel natural.
It will be all okay.

It will be all okay,
As leaves fly back onto empty branches,
And we suck all the water to shrink the trees.
And so would you, with time…
Shrink to a tiny baby!
Throwing up food diligently thrice a day,
Sleeping in the morning to wake up in the evening.

You’d ungrow in your life to see your children consume your grandchildren,
And live long enough yourself to consume your own.

You’d be born in a technologically sound society,
But un-age to an archaic day.
The history books shall be filled with a dreamy world,
Of cool inventions,
Artificial intelligence,
Modern medicine,
Genetic modification and what not,
Science would become mythology,
And mythology shall become eventual science.

You won’t dream.
What’s the point of dreaming when you’re actually un-progressing?
Every day would bee a step into getting worse.
Yet some rare folks shall dream still,
And find their dreams fulfilled
Of a simpler life
And a greener planet.

Life would still go on in that world,
Just as it goes on in ours,
But there you’d pay to work,
To unbuild businesses,
And crash the stock markets.

All the famous people would be unknown
Of what had made them famous,
What had turned the tables,
You’d speculate your whole life about your past,
About the root cause,
Not knowing what decisions you took to land you to your present,
And slowly unravel the karma that lead to it all.

Yet such a nasty world will move as it is,
And run as dark as it does.
Unknown to its people,
Who’d neither bother nor budge.
Undead from nothing,
To unborn into nothing,
They will breathe out, and breathe in,
An unknown blessed journey of life,
Which stays of the same value,
Whether time runs ahead or behind.

Published in Poetry

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