THE LAST CLOCK
As a wave breaking then breaking then breaking
and, finally, falling, dispersing on the sands,
the red azalea bloomed then the crimson
camellia, the purple magnolia
and the white weeping cherry – its blossoms,
the silk folds of its petals, April’s winds
and showers were scattering like snowflakes.
After, the unfolding flesh of the leaves,
contoured like malachite, sturdy as stone
seemingly, seduces. How can this surprise
more and more each year, as if unknown, unseen?
A grasping of life before the last clock
– tickety tock, tickety tock – strikes?
Nilanjana Bose
April 25, 2014Beautifully captured spring images here. Evocative! And I mean all five, not just this one. Enjoyed seeing the name of Kolkata in there.
Thanks and regards,
Nilanjana.
John Huddart
May 1, 2014This lovely poem starts with such intense physical insistence – the rhythmic repetition and then the intense imagery, well achieved and sensual. So the ending with its childlike tickety tock was startling until I realized you were combining how age intensifies our experience whilst at the same time reminding us we are approaching our final childhood days – combining infancy and simplicity in our ends! Great stuff!