this evening’s hands are tied
to a clock ticking away
in perpetuity,
as there are countless soil kernels,
all residing in a (p)inch of land
for me,
there are countless evenings,
all lined up in the curve-length
between
the uni-
verse & (t)here.
perhaps the clock is broken.
perhaps i am writing to a time
that never occurred.
.
© Anmol Arora
Day 19
(Inter)National Poetry Month
HA's Place 
Or one that’s just begun….
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Perhaps! XD
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You had me at the opening lines ❤️ such a deeply philosophical write, Anmol!
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Awesome writing! And wat a coincidence! I thought about the miracle that is time today at work and wondered of I could write a poem about it, but you beat me to it! Now I’m affraid to write a poem about it. Because it would probably suck compared to yours 😅
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I really enjoyed this one! Read it several times to think it through ☺️.
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