Slip
©July 24th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I’ve said it before,
I’ll say it again:
I hate clocks!
I hate Time!
Treacherous old King!
Stupid we are, so willing,
Enslaved to that tyrant!
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Drip, drip, drip, drip!
Always dribbling through
The hourglass of our days,
He drags us (that traitor!)
Feet-first into the ocean.
Every minute hastens us
Closer to the end.
And we go willingly.
Why don’t we fight?
(Mind you, I’m not afraid!
I just don’t like surprises.)
I want to be everywhere
And everywhen, all at once.
Engulfing the void that opens,
That stretches before us all,
But Old Father Time, grinning,
Toothlessly cackles, “No, no, no!”
We could suspend Time,
Draw him up by his ankles,
Leave him dangling,
Screaming over the cliff,
While we have a leisurely picnic,
And watch the waves with
Indifferent admiration.
I watch the Old Clock-Man
That old, shuffling Watch-Man,
Grinning, grinning like a mask
Walking around us, avoiding
Direct contact, whispering
Bad thoughts in our ears.
And I think wicked thoughts.
Evil beast! May he perish
Without a whimper, a whisper.
May he be swept away like dust!
For he grinds away the hours
He turns the crank on the minutes
He grins in his hideous mask,
His face empty behind it.
And when he’s done, he sits
And counts the hours, like a miser
Sitting among piled hills of gold.
He counts the beating of my heart
The pulse of my temples,
He numbers my days.
He likes that – gives him a thrill.
How can we wear his avatar,
Grinning like an empty thing
On our wrists? See how he
Lurks inside our phones
Our cars, our computers?
Are we MAD?
This is proof of our slavery:
We shackle ourselves
Time and time again,
And even decorate our chains.
Fie!
I shall paint strange patterns
On that grinning mask,
And while he sputters and gasps,
I shall turn my back, and march
Straight into the sunshine
Beyond his gilded prison.
He cannot catch me,
For I shall give him the slip.
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