| In the spareness of the hour Reflected hands Count down Minutely, mutely. Clock face she wears As a talisman To mark the passing of a time That defies all definition. Restrained within a timewarp almost, Looking at the past Because the present is static, unmoving, And the future is beyond reach. The languor of lockdown persists. It locks down the body, the mind, and existence, It locks down the heart, the soul, the spirit, It locks the clocks. It locks love. |
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