The Clock Poem by Rahman Henry

The clock of God that hangs in the churchyard
gets married one day and becomes pregnant.

She can't manage time anymore
to point exact time on the hand.
There she was! to laugh and tell- it's four p.m.
That doesn't happen exactly the same anymore; rather
a tortoise keeps walking in this length of hour;

It walks in such a slow motion that
we think in half youth-time the clock
is about to turn into a stone.

Therefore,
the preacher chases us off to the cemetery—


* Translation from original Bengali: Razia Sultana