HANDS OF TIME by Mide Benedict

In some hour of the day, my eyes dragged their weak attention towards the wrist watch on my table and I noticed what in a long time had not occurred to me; it was the mid of the day! The two hands of the watch settled gently at the middle and, I realised this was it; time has settled for a break.

But it moved, the minute hand moved forward, leaving the shorter hand behind: the hour hand was surely the biggest but still I didn't understand why the longer hand would leave the bigger hand, then it came 'the longer hand? 'Oh that is it!' I was struck by the sudden discovery.

'Why wouldn't it move, it's of course the 'longer hand' and perhaps because it sensed it was longer than the hour hand which was the shorter, it thought the short hour hand was a mediocre but it forgot to see beyond the now; that the short hour hand has a future that is bigger than its now, that the hour hand may be short but it is bigger and carries the greatest responsibility; so the minute hand moved on.'

I thought again, that may not be it: it may be that of love, scared of its heart. The longer hand might have felt they were not right for each other or maybe the longer hand felt there was no love between them or maybe the longer hand felt they would meet later in the future for a better the, if truly they were meant for each other, so it moved on with time....

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This is for those Who see life as an unfair land, Where growth is fairly found only On luck's fragile and ferocious tree: It is for those whose eyes only See reality as a coin Always tossed to uncertainty: For those who see misery As an inescapable ditch, Never to be seen when its mouth agars, Never to be escaped when its venom runs, But to be delivered like a slave for a ritual, Thrown like a cotyledon into dry soil, To germinate failure like a blocked well, Hoping to salvage a droughty throat. For those whose first name is lucky, Whose last name is uncertainty And middle name misery, Know that which you know not that The poison in your tongue is The wine your life drinks; It drinks on and on till stupor calls for death And stupidity dresses its grave Like a young man before a mirror, Staring unthinkingly at his face, Till he sees greyness in his eyes. This is for those who see eye to eye With the words on this slate. Image by Midé Benedict

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Don’t hold me down L ike I’m in some cave Just like a bird flies Where nothing breathes light Through a hidden dark sky L ike an existence lost in inexistence, Locked up in a bottle T hat only lives every day in an every minute coffin Tightened with an unbreakable cover. Free me I said, but you brought me this! What freedom is more painful than Eye balls without sights; faith without work like To walk on a spot; Mountains tied to your legs While eyes go dark As you walk unmoving: In a place surrounded by light; What a freedom! Image from : http://theadventurehandbook.com

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