The Clock

As an infant I did not know how
I troubled my mother day and night

I did not know that I used to cry the whole night
while mother used to be awake all the while

I did not know how many times I used to suck my mother’s breast
and she was feeding the milk without getting fed

I did not know she used to cry like a child
whenever I would fall sick and run temperature

I did not know when I cut and wounded my limb
she spilled the blood in her womb

I did not know she used to sing lalis to put me to sleep
she used to be composed when I disturbed her in sleep

I did not know she never ever had any other recreation any time
other then make me smile and play on her lap all the time

I did grow up under the umbrella of her love and sacrifice
while she got aged exposing herself to sun and wind

I did not realise the clock had turned full circle with me growing tall and big
while my mother sinking and shrinking gradually like a log

I shouted in despair when she could not hear me
I became impatient when she held my hand to walk
I was angry when she repeated the same dialogues
I did not heed when she pleaded me to be with her

I did not realise when she lost all the teeth, she is back as child
I could not understand why she started behaving like a child

I failed to realise that she needed all the care that she gave me as an infant

I did not notice her insecurity when I snubbed her and left
while I was so secured and safe as she never left me alone

I only realised my folly when I saw her dead with her eyes wide open in anticipation of my return

I know how ever much I regret now I have none to console me
but the one who would have consoled me is no more with me

I was in search of God all through my life but could not locate him
but I never knew or understood that God was there with me
all the while taking care of me until she suddenly vanished.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Ramapriya Nr

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
I am a retired Engineer from the Government of Karnataka and now 64 year old. post retirement I fancied to write in 3 languages namely English,Hindi and kannada. I have written several poems,short stories etc and have published two books namely ""Tri bhasha Kritigalu and Rampys vision on lifes mission and now it has become passion for me to continue writing. I have also developed several software computer programmes covering Technical,medical and general programmes
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

2 Comments on "The Clock"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
ammu sachariah
Member

it’s a heart touching poem. We never think about the value of mother when they are with us. I liked the way how you portrayed it.

wpDiscuz

The Clock Guy

The Clock Guy prose poem

There once Lived a man named Mr McDocks, he loved one thing and THAT thing was clocks. He fixed them and sold them; he had his own shop, he treasured them always; it JUST wouldn’t stop. He had watches, grandfathers

Clock

Clock short poem

Her heart was like a clock that I wanted to stop and rewind the dial back. Remembering the beginning. Following the curve of ticks as everything around disappeared. The ticks and tonks that throb as pulse. The blossom of smiles

Friday And Work Clock

Friday And Work Clock short poem

Here I enter my bureau cube Greet my co-workers and Mr. Big Blue too. Show them the picture of the latest TV I bought, Because last month’s raise I got! They plan plan plan … And invite selves in my

Chasing The Clock

Chasing The Clock short poem

Sitting here waiting while the clock face chases forward my memories bewildered and twisted, with unborn thoughts… Seeing things I’ve waited for all these years just go by as tear drops now, like a paper book each page is turned,

Clock Maker (v2)

Clock Maker (v2) prose poem

Solo, I am clock maker born September 22nd, a Virgo/Libra mix insane, look at my moving parts, apart yet together, holes in air, artistic perfection, mechanical misfits everywhere, life is a brass lever, a wordsmith, an artist at his craft.