Behind the rectangular glass case
A bent head, lit sideways by a lamp
A lens, stuck into the socket of the right eye
A forceps in hand, drawing out
The innards of a dead watch.
Tickers tick loud
Tolling, the impending doom.
Watches lie about
In various states of disembowelment.
Old, huge clocks hang in the walls
Like Capuchin monks in the catacombs.
How precise! His fingers wield the tiny tool
And stab it into the underbelly of my watch.
I stand still -
My time is at his mercy.
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Balachandran V,
i did not understand about capuchin monks.y the reference ??
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. The next tick may or may not happen... And an ordinary scene is suddenly loaded with suspense.
ReplyDelete