The mist of the morning air
The peaceful aura of the sleeping city
The stillness all around
Which makes your breath feel numbered.
The window of one's soul open
And the sun rising in one's eyes...
The estimated journey reflected in one's eyes
The lines of destiny like wrinkles on one's face
The eternity in one's stride
Strides which gives your brain
a map for the present.
The present hung like a fireball in the sky 
Which orbits while one's future is being set
And when the sun sets in one's eyes
It lights up with the moon shining in them.
The past, present and the future-all merging into one another
Like a milky way galaxy spread across the sky. 
I like your verse. You make me think of a dying person being reincarnated. I dunno. I read it twice. It felt like a complete incomplete poem or vice versa.
It is always interesting to read how other people perceive one's poem. I believe after any publication, the author is dead and its the readers who are alive.
I think I know how you feel because time itself is such an illusory concept. If there were no calendars would we still be running out of time?
Don't forget to count the clocks and the sun. They kinda tell us the time, too.
This poem is a work of art. Great work!
Omg Thank you! :) It's an honor to feel recognized for art :)