The Grandfather Clock.
I am like the grandfather clock, obsolete. I have been ticking for a long time now. This old ticker of mine has pumped enough blood to fill a Lake Argyle. Round and round I go in the same old circles, repeating the same repetitive chimes everyone has heard before. I used to be more like an alarm clock, wind me up and I could be relied on to go off like crazy. Other people, not educated ornithologists, associate me with the cuckoo clock.
Life was leisurely before we became so reliant on the chronometer. The rooster crowed and it roused us from dream land. It was time to think about what we needed to do that day. To put food on the table and protection from the elements. Through the day the position of the sun let us know how we were doing.
Cloudy days were declared holidays.
We looked forward to a beautiful sun set to let us know it was time to rest. To sit around the camp fire till it turned to embers and another day was done.
Then some fool invented the clock, a dictator to rule our life. The clock has become so precise one can lose the race by a fraction of a second. There are no ties or dead-heats, you either win or lose in the digital rodent event. The sundial was not too hard to adapt to. The hour-glass was a bit disturbing, what will happen when the sand runs out and no one is around to put it right? Then the villain with face and hands came along. Telling us to hurry up or be left behind. Left behind, what a cheek, it is not right!
We may protest but still want a Rolex, not to tell us the time but as a status symbol. A Rolex is unnecessary we have our mobile phone for telling us the time and heaps of other stuff to clutter our life. We do not have to wind the clock up we are the ones whose main spring is being put under tension. Stop being so preoccupied with time. You do not need all these precision instruments to be happy. All that is necessary is the sun in the morning and the moon at night.
A book of verses under the bough,
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread and thou,
Beside me in the wilderness,
O, wilderness, were paradise anon!
…………. I only know two verses…
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too unto the dust descend
Dust unto dust and under dust to lie,
San wine, san song, san singer and san end.
These lines are an English translation of a poem attributed to Omar Khayyam.