The Clocks
A tree stood on the roadside
Strange it seemed to me
For there was not a foliage it could boast of
But an array of clocks
Nailed on to the trunk
Seven in all
Round, sour cream in colour
Displaying time
That chose to run on different tracks
My life was running on a four wheeled machine
So fast it was
That i could only get a glimpse of the needles
Running helter skelter in different directions
Under the tree on a mute wooden chair
Sat a man
Mute, gazing in the distance
At a tractor in the field
Dali’s watches came alive
In the hallowed portals of my mind
How irrelevant is time when we are asleep
It is a world of breathing memories
And breathing dreams
Beyond the curtains of black lashes
But the watches on this tree
Were rooted to a world of wakefulness
I wonder
What is real-sleep or wakefulness?
Memories or promises?
Timelessness ...
Only time will tell
And i shift my gaze to the sprinting trees
-Ghazal...11:30pm
(I saw this tree recently when i was on an official visit to Jaipur.I wish i could have stopped to click a picture or perhaps make an attempt to talk to that man in the giant pagree,but somehow i was spellbound,held captive by the strange sight...)
