The Ticking of a Clock

 

Life is an abstract race

As the clock ticks by,

From the day of birth

To the day we die.




The power a clock holds,

Within two woven arms,

That glide intermittently,

To create a spectacular charm-




A charm that defines the present,

One that creates the past,

With the simple constant motion,

Within a simple short glance.




Time as such, never exists

Yet can be felt indefinitely,

As the clock ticks,

And the arms move continually.




Seconds turned to minutes,

And minutes to hours,

Yet the motion remains constant,

Through the dozen abstract bars.




Within the simple ticking of the clock,

Between the gliding hands,

Juggling those seconds and -

Minutes do we stand.

~Hussain