Thursday, 13 June 2013


A clock ticks, the hand sweeps
A perfect circle, never ending
Marking moments that never again can be revisited
Laughter at old jokes and crying to sad songs
The arguments and fights, and yes, the love making
All consigned to "then" because "now" is but a flicker
Gone too soon

And in all this time, he waits
The patience of a million stones washed by the oceans of apathy
To be taken from the shelf, dusted off and used
And then shelved again until next time
Still, he accepts his tired lot without protest
Hoping in vain for change
That never comes

Time moves forward, forward only
And even if he could reach back to pluck that one moment
When his eyes meet her eyes and an exchanged look lingers
From one second onto the next
What could he do but cast a feeble sigh, anyway?
The moment was not his to keep
And she has already placed him back on the shelf

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