G S Shivarudrappa

Under The Clock

Who knows since when it is working–This clock;Seconds, minutes, hours– the hands markNight and day.Hourly, half-hourly, rings its moanWhile the snow rolls in the veins;Snow or sunshine ( does it matter ? )The stars roll in the blue vaultUndisturbed.Ceaselessly the river flows to the ocean.But the dark thirst of the salt wavesIs never slakedFor all…