THE LAST CLOCK


As a wave breaking then breaking then breaking

and, finally, falling, dispersing on the sands,

the red azalea bloomed then the crimson

camellia, the purple magnolia

and the white weeping cherry – its blossoms,

the silk folds of its petals, April’s winds

and showers were scattering like snowflakes.

 

After, the unfolding flesh of the leaves,

contoured like malachite, sturdy as stone

seemingly, seduces. How can this surprise

more and more each year, as if unknown, unseen?

A grasping of life before the last clock

– tickety tock, tickety tock – strikes?

 

 

 

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

  1. #1 by Nilanjana Bose - April 25th, 2014 at 11:04

    Beautifully captured spring images here. Evocative! And I mean all five, not just this one. Enjoyed seeing the name of Kolkata in there.
    Thanks and regards,
    Nilanjana.

  2. #2 by John Huddart - May 1st, 2014 at 14:06

    This lovely poem starts with such intense physical insistence – the rhythmic repetition and then the intense imagery, well achieved and sensual. So the ending with its childlike tickety tock was startling until I realized you were combining how age intensifies our experience whilst at the same time reminding us we are approaching our final childhood days – combining infancy and simplicity in our ends! Great stuff!

(will not be published)

  1. No trackbacks yet.