THE TIME MACHINE Poem by Nicolás Suescún

The clock has lost its hands
and man marks time with his,
always turning around on his own axle,
noisy voyager of space,
that vast silence
unbroken by his voice or his cries
or his erratic passage through the world,
the ungratefulness of a prodigal son
who never returns,
till the hour of his death,
to the great Mother Earth who gave him life.
The clock has lost its hands
and man marks time with his.