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There wasn't supposed to be a clock shop there.

Deep inside the lane and away from the bustle
the door quietly opened to the world of time.

World of Time, yes, that was the name of the shop
though it resembled more a curio shop
with the man at the counter as antique
as the time long flown away.

I want a clock to gift to somebody,
said I, amid the chiming and ticking
that if listened to for long, I was sure
would lull even the alert into sleep.

Thanks for stepping in, said the man,
with a hint of smile passing across his face,
nobody cares for time anymore, it's banished,
but for the connoisseurs still enchanted by
the melodious rhyme of swinging pendulum,
a midnight music, half listened in dream.

There's the clock chiming hourly music,
the man pointed, big but worth having,
obviously a misfit in the shrinking space,
but I say, don't compress all into small,
like say, he smiled, love and heart.

He set the music on
and slowly everything melted
from before my eyes...

I was carried home from the pavement
and some days later I returned.

World of Time, an old man recollected,
was wound up long time back.
Star pupils, interstellar eyes,

gazing across the frozen nebula

at stick figures in radiation suits,

lovers intertwined with reactant valves,

planted into unearthly soil,

a distant light from over our shoulder,

the good comet returns,

there might be an escape pod

for intangibles after all,

and once inside, images of moonbase love

and alien encounters,

that neither mocks the comically misjudged

visions of yellowed science fiction,

nor longs for some utopian future,

an environment that begs escapism

without denying humanity
Gut dropping falls
Dizzying ascent
It scares me
But I get back on

Forgive and forget
Care first for yourself
Pursue pleasure
Avoid pain.

Asynchronous
Dichotomies
Cannot achieve
Mutual satisfaction

Pain is inevitable
The price of living
paid in discomfort
And Uncertainty

A life of comfort
Is quiet and easy
An extraordinary life
Challenges the soul
Even though my head knows that the drop is coming, it doesn’t cease to be exciting. If the extraordinary was routine, what would be the point of pursuing it?
When I'm stuck in a poem
Do I come out wounded or healed
Are my emptiness deeper or filled
Do I smile or feel a lump
Or in that wondrous bump
I jump in the joy of crying
And cry in the joy of knowing.

You have so much to tell
And upon you when I dwell
I'm changed and evolved
The exchanges lifting me up
Adding eyes to my eyes
You take me through sunset and sunrise.

If I'm eager to listen I learn
You give my life a new turn
Each poet is a unique book
Transforms me, my outlook
The young makes me grownup
The old makes me a child..

Such is the magic of poetry!

I'm grateful you took me in
Gave my life a new meaning
Gave your shoulders to cry
Offered your heart to dry.

Life has a short span
But I'll be here and hear you
As long as I can.
An anniversary note of gratitude on completion of a decade and a year on HP. Thanks fellow Poet friends for taking me with you on this rewarding journey.
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