The Ticking Hands Poem by malini kadir

THE TICKING HANDS
OF THE CLOCK
HAS ITS RHYTHM HANDS
MAKING IT UNERRING WORK

THE HANDS OF DESTINY
HAS MANKIND IN ITS GRIP
IT IS NEVER FUNNY
SOMETIMES IT HURTS LIKE WHIP

LEAVING MARKS, RED AND LASHING
PERHAPS AGITATED MINDS FASHION IT UNAWARE
NOT WISHING TO AS METEORS FLASHING
TO FALL TO EARTH IN A DOWNBOUND CURVE RARE

LEAVING NO MARKS, BUT WHITE PATH
THE FRAGMENT DETACHED BY ACCIDENT
FROM THE FIERY SUN TO ITS LOWLY GARTH
FLY IT DOES GOVERNED BY GRAVITY UNINTENT

PATH MARKED ACROSS THE BLUE SKY
FACE WHITE AS IF SMOKE OF COOLING EMBERS
DOWN, DOWN, SHE WENT WITHOUT A SIGH
HOPE AND FAITH IN THE SMILE REMEMBERS.....

THE TICKING HANDS
OF THE CLOCK
HAS ITS RHYTHM HANDS
MAKING IT UNERRING WORK

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~malini kadir