The Clock On The Wall Poem by Tan Pratonix
The Clock On The Wall
I look at the face
Of the clock on the wall,
Silently creeping
A white minute-hand
Over its gleaming black
Circular face.
The regular ticking
Sounds loud in the stillness,
Till one revolution
Completes the hour...
The pendulum strikes
The end of the race.
It begins again
Through days and through weeks,
Crawling and creeping
To complete the year,
The end of a stage.
Its continual plodding
Resembles the life
Of the man in the street
On his tedious way...
Unthinking,
Uncaring...
A meaningless age.
I don't think anyone since HD has managed to make lines this short work!
Powerful finish, powerful message, but I not one that I necessarily agree with. Your man on the stree, Tan, might just not bother thinking about the passing of time as it's just not worth it. He might prefer to just enjoy his time instead, until his time is up. Kind regards, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 3:31:49 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Not very sure of what to make of this poem, not very familiar with wall clocks, might it sound stupid of me wondering if the clock needs to complete a year to have something done? Imho, ee humans look for many things to the end of our stage and that is meaning of life through thinking and caring which we may hardly find on the streets. However my opinion it is not important, I think we don't really need to understand exactly what the poet talks about, we all perceive things different and that may be the charm of poetry. For a moment I imagined myself being a clock, and that was fun, lol! Enjoyed the read, thank you for sharing.