The times are an unminded stock
Of many a timepiece or clock—
With some that rust and lag behind
And some run faster than the flock.
Though they’re given a daily wind
To keep the seconds tick and tock
And din the hours with fits of chimes,
Together, they don’t tell the time.
During breakfast this morning, I chewed over the mysterious chronos of our day and realised the wall clock was set a handful of minutes ahead, whereas our digital clock by the telly was a bit too slow; subsequently, the incongruent clocks became the convenient scapegoats for my missing of the bus.
Winter is beckoning from a distance, though no one knows the day or hour. Some say it’s already here, while some, like myself, are still wearing summer clothes. Then, apart from the climatic ones, the same goes for our economic winters, political winters, sociomoral winters, spiritual winters, and so on. After all … what is the time?
A little something to be shared with dVerse’s Open Link Night this week.
Photo Courtesy: roccofortehotels.com