Tick-tick, tick-tock

I always wear my watch


when I go out


but take it off the moment


I step into my home


for here I have the pick of several clocks on walls and shelves


that help me keep pace with


TIME.






But it is really this one clock


that teaches me about TIME


for you see,


while the minutes's arm keeps steady course


and sometimes hurtles, sometimes drags


along the face of the dial,


the thin seconds' arm is stuck;


it moves forward, pauses and comes back


as if unsure of its authority


to show others the measure


of this portion of eternity.






So while the minutes race by or,


saunter at their leisure,


the seconds stay still,


somewhere between six and seven.






We have thought of changing the batteries


or sending the clock for repair,


but I have always hoped


that this wise little clock,


this time-burner, this time-turner


continues to show


the true faces of TIME-


the face that waits for none,


as well as


the face that changes for none.






I think with pleasure on Woolf


and brevity and diuturnity,


glad that such marvellous lessons


keep getting thrown our way


to show us how to enjoy


moments of eternity


from within


lengthy moments of the galloping finitude


that both go into an hour.






And amidst this time tracking,


there is ofcourse, the possibility


of being alarm-ed,


but we never exercise that option


so that ignored arm lies redundant,


frustrated with no use


(for we refuse to be rudely surprised by our


own planned interruptions).






it is no time machine,


no Harry Potter's device,


but like an hour glass


that keeps time


according to


how you keep it- vertical or not,


this clock shows me TIME -


human and divine;


so the minutes and the hours


are as they exist in our world


And the unmoving seconds, a measure of all those minutes and hours


in a day of Brahma...






So what do I do


when I am outside,


with my too eagerly faithful watch


forcing me to KEEP TIME


with schedules and organised routine?






I patiently bide time


and sometimes it flies by,


taking pity on me,


so that I can come back home,


sit at the dining table,


on my chair, facing the clock,


staring at the marvel,


watching how the hours and minutes


fruitlessly try to make the seconds


catch up with them.






And as I sink into oblivion,


focusing on the mental tick-tick


of the seconds's arm,


it becomes me


idle and unheeding,


as it gets urged to finish


its dinner quickly


and not sit immobile


like it has


all the TIME in the world.