As I sit on the coach in the living room
I listen to the time passing by
There is nothing interested on T.V
And all I hear is time passing by
The sound of the clocks in the bedroom are out of sync
with the huge heart shaped clock on the wall in the living room
which depicts a small sculpture of the Christ locked inside by a layer of glass.
Both clocks in my bedroom clikc simultaneously like synchronized tap dancing
While the clock in the living room moves at a different pace, to a different rhythm
As time passes by
I can do nothing but try to catch up with it before it is finished
Before it is finshed with me
Time is but a visitor who has many numbers attached
Time is like an elderly lady, afraid to tell her age.
Yet she determines the age of all.
Time tells the destiny of everything within itself as a unit of measurement
Time is immortal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem