Absurd is the concept of measuring time with a clock;
Its threatening noise, the circadian rhythm of tick-tock.
Hypnotically monotonous, never enough;
Forcing us into submission with soothing routine;
Keeping us on tenterhooks with the threat of compromised future rhythms.
Serving as a mirage of reassurance when it doesn't arrive,
A pinch of guilt when it's past.
It's a constant reminder of everything yet to be achieved,
A dull throb of everything lost.
Have you ever really looked at a clock?
Modeled upon humans with a perfect aesthetic but unmatched internal chords;
Each chord representing a singular cacophony;
The fast one,
familiar in rhythm, much like the C major chord,
pleasant to behold,
an anchor for restless eyes;
a balm for excited nerves.
The long one,
dissonant, like the 7- chords;
distinct, soft, almost sly in movement;
an enigma for the intelligent,
a nerve-racker for the savant.
Now, there remains just the one,
The stout, steady chord;
non-conformist to the demarcated path,
the ominous minor chord progression,
Center of the philosopher's universe,
The Harbinger of news.
How tempting is structure to the human,
That we make universe abide by it?
But is your time, my time?
Do hours, in story ours', alike fit?
The dissonance of this melody of time,
Ironically apparent in retrospect;
Generates wonder in the perfect measure,
More substance, beyond the mundane, to reflect.
As I look back over the years,
Significant moments define my age;
No two years etched the same in my memory,
No two hovering apart akin to the infamous adage.
My memory expands time exponentially,
Where lasting impressions were made;
My young mother smiling down at me often takes an entire year;
My sibling's shenanigans, a decade.
My father's silently communicative eyes,
Hold within years of pain, joy and work.
Each of my past lovers stake claim ranging from months to eons;
Close friends defiantly hold stake in each experience.
Truly bewildering is that this too changes,
As I grow, my family takes on a physical space;
Ever present across ages and time;
For as lessons gather traction,
It moves into the physical, almost tangible domain.
Where memories freeze into a past me;
Vagaries of life flow through the walls of these three domains;
And the measure of these domains shifts;
With me growing into myself from I,
Time now moving from spacious homes to a block;
And on and on the cycle goes, till the eyes rest.
Leaving behind the eternal truth of time,
We live between the tick and tock.