Wall Clocks: The Hanging Sword
Slowly I’m losing track of time, looking at wall clocks, waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.
Not knowing when this wait will end. Time had always been a hanging sword for me. In a blink of an eye, the childhood was gone.
During my adolescence, I could not tightly grip the rope of time.
In my adult days, I was not paying close attention to the wrinkles under my eyes.
But now I wait. Looking at my old hands, grey hair, and weaker bones, I wait and gaze into the darkness.
Those who haven’t counted seconds won’t understand my chaos.
The clock in front of me reminds me that I had an aesthetic choice of everything, the little details, the Roman numbers stuck on the wall waiting for their turns, mock me.
I am losing the concept of time and space.
Seventy years is not that old, they say.
I don’t remember when I bought this wall clock hanging on the lilac-painted bedroom wall. The dust in these words tells me I haven’t done dusting for years.
I don’t recall on which day I called him, whose name was pretty.
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But I don’t remember now.
I am like this bird hanging with the rope of time, gradually moving towards its end.
We both know it’ll be over soon but when, no idea.
Am I ready? The question pings me every time. To my surprise, I have no answer.
This family clock, oh I recall now, he bought it. All I remember now is HE.
Despite my anger, he bought it because it was on sale.
Little did he know that we hadn’t given our family a minute since we got that clock.
Our love for collecting wall clocks was the vibe we’d never forget.
But it doesn’t matter now, does it?
Looking at needles, waiting for them, thinking they’d be here soon.
His last words were: You can buy a wall clock but not time.
You can buy the above wall clocks by clicking on this link.
