Broken Clock

“There are much history preachers but fewer history creators”

I know you are done with walking on these eggshells

Your hands are numb- eyes in rheumy

In a face of courage

Hard is the wreckage

But the bird in you

Is hungry for a flight

You are dauntless, a warrior

You own a crown

Of these shattered defeats

I tell you

Wear it proudly

Let it not be unseen

Oh these heads of the crowd

Engrossed in time

Sandwiched between ethnic and dreams.

Your sky is louring but not you

You hold on things – subtle

A trauma is deadly killing you.

You are stronger

Muddled in life’s cacophony

But heading towards your own land

Let them call you an end

As you start

Inevitable loss, recorded in blind.

You, yes you

When will begin that long journey inside you?

Let the clocks be broken– timeless

Move ahead of the fever

That’s keeping your deed.