Tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac,
In – made in china – timepiece,
Echoes my mama’s life,
Age is of no reason to her anymore -
Not enough of an incentive to live,
Yet, enough of a temptation to die.
Tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac,
Tatty, dusty gauge of existence
Catches you in every act of life,
My mama is time exempt though.
Plaintiff, in time vs. misfortune lawsuit,
She lost to misfortune… chose to, rather.
Tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac,
- Mama, what is time to you, I question.
- I wouldn’t know, she said,
- I ran out of it past my daughter’s death.
- What was it like before?
- Silly you, she smirked, why would I bother to remember?
- It was better than it is now! She went on.
Dreary answer to a futile query.
- Mama, but you are still living,
Please, I beseech, be merry for a moment,
I am here, time with me!
- Yes, she gloomed, my time is you…
…tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac.
Tic-Tac
© Copyright: Fern, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107030901154
Свидетельство о публикации №107030901154
Рецензии
At me too is about mum, about a youth, about grief and pleasure.
The wind in a field,
the poor creature, is single.
For ever. I remembered my mother's age–
thirty seven!
Your eyes – my reflection.
I in them am looked.
Soon put your birth.
Figure to name I am afraid.
Also I repeat, as in delirium,
it is obstinate: « Thirty seven!!! »
At me young mum!
For ever.
The wind in a field,
the poor creature, is single.
A leaf fall the autumn sighs.
I remembered my mother's age–
to Her just about will be thirty eight.
On July, 18th, 2006 Davidova Inga
Инга Давыдова 05.06.2007 23:30 • Заявить о нарушении
The wind in a field,
the poor creature, is single.
For ever. I remembered my mother's age–
thirty seven!
Your eyes – my reflection.
I in them am looked.
Soon put your birth.
Figure to name I am afraid.
Also I repeat, as in delirium,
it is obstinate: « Thirty seven!!! »
At me young mum!
For ever.
The wind in a field,
the poor creature, is single.
A leaf fall the autumn sighs.
I remembered my mother's age–
to Her just about will be thirty eight.
On July, 18th, 2006 Davidova Inga
Инга Давыдова 05.06.2007 23:30 • Заявить о нарушении
:) yeah, mothers definitely do deserve to be praised in all ways known. If you don’t mind my intrusion on your poem – mum – means silent, mom – is mother :)
Fern 06.06.2007 13:43 Заявить о нарушении
Fern 06.06.2007 13:43 Заявить о нарушении