The clock on my wall hums the silent tune – tick tock, tick tock. Night after day after night, I can hear it beating silently in the background, oblivious to the madness of the mornings or to the serenity of the midnight hours. The pace consistent, the mood somber, it continues to beat till its small sources of energy can provide. The rhythm of the wheels is now a part of me; my heart trying to keeping pace with the mute beat.
It stands witness to all my eccentricities, desperation, happiness and even tears, but it never blinks or tries to share any advice. In all times good or bad, it just looks down upon me, singing and dancing to it’s own tune. In moments of despair, I have often thought it is running too fast. At other times, when I am waiting for someone dear, I think it has just completely stopped. Logic tells me, it can’t be so. It is supposed to go on at the same pace. It can’t change that, it is not supposed to.
Yet, when my heart refuses to match the pace, I find an easy target to vent my frustration. I admit, I have changed my clock ever so often, hoping the new one will provide what the earlier ones couldn’t. With every change, I have found a more expensive and beautiful clock. The sound of the beat changes a little each time, but the pace arguably remains the same – tick tock, tick tock!