Sanjna Das // CLOCK

Its background is white,

Every trace of color washed away

By the omnipotent numbers.

 

It is nonchalant.

Blasé, you might say, with a sophisticated air.

Completely unforgiving and uncaring.

Without compassion and without empathy.

 

Its hands are not warm ones,

But stiff and rigid,

Determined as ever to keep the world moving,

Even in the toughest of times.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

 

Sometimes we wish it would stop,

So that we might have a few minutes

To finish a test,

Or to stay in bed a little longer.

 

But it doesn’t show the slightest hint of tenderness,

Not even when your world seems to be crumbling.

No, the numbers are as clear as ever,

Its perpetual motion even clearer.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

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