Julian’s clairvoyance

I have a big wide sheet over my desk

Crisscrossed with squares

Divided by thin rows and thick columns

Each filled with a big bold number

In black and red; a day and a date

A Gregorian and a Panchaangam.

It gives me the comfort of movement

Of an uncluttered march forward,

Until we get to the end of the sheet.

Then it all suddenly cycles back to square one

In the dreaded circular reversal

Every hour. Every month. Every year,

Return. Retrace. Relive. Recount

Marking time in diligent unerring precision.

If only time was measured linearly

Coded like library books on unending ladder racks

Of hours and days, months and years

A forward drift with no end in sight;

Memory then might wear a different garb,

Have a different name; mean something else.

Instead we have this ceaseless switching on and off

Of a then and a now. Some real; some desired.

An on and an off. And, again.

040

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