WATCHING TIME

He bowed gently, greeted me, and I felt like a beauty in one of those coming out parties Harlequin Historicals detail. When he walked away I noticed his uneven stride; his left leg was bad, twisted at the ankle. My admiration doubled, and my head went someplace very far from the scorching sun, and thoughts of my favourite watch in the hands of the calm heurologist….

Our lives are measured in time; are they not? Little stops of slim hands caressing points to mark 60 seconds, 1 minute; paths of human life past and passing, never to return. Yet, what does time really say? Is it possible to ever pause to listen to time? Or do we just talk to time always? What do we do in time? What do we do with time? Can we give a little time to love? Take less time from hate? Can we smile at the stranger, watch the clouds form shapes, wink at the baby, talk to the stars…? Or are they pettinesses we are too busy to indulge? Can we taste the luxury of the food on our tongue, soak in the spirit of poetry, listen to the life behind the music? Or are we engrossed in the hustle to earn our living so much we forget to live?

The heurologist nudged me, my watch was ready. I smiled at it, slipped it on, enjoyed its weight as it nested below my wrist, warm, ticking, familiar.

A curvy woman came by. She bore a load on her head wrapped in yellow and blue ankara. On her right hand was a gold chain wristwatch; the date of which she came to set. I stared at the crown, thought she could have done it herself if only she had taken some time to know her watch.

Then came a young man with bushy eyebrows, a rude tongue, and harsh eyes. He wanted new leather straps for his wristwatch; and he wanted the cheapest option available. I felt a strange pity at his necessity to buy the cheapest straps, and wondered if he knew the purchase was pound-foolish. I also thought if he knew a smile was cheaper than the straps he wanted.

I paid the heurologist and walked away. The sun was hot, but I didn’t think it would kill me or bless me with a headache. There was beauty in the market it seemed: in the sun reflecting off shiny surfaces to form a rainbow, in the little children playing on untarred streets with dirty clothes while their mothers watched with worried eyes, in the market people advertising their wares in accented tongues… there was beauty everywhere.

Of course; there was time, walking away from me as I watched it all.

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2 thoughts on “WATCHING TIME

  1. owoseeni Roseline says:

    Dupe! You are such a great writer I bow to that big thing called brain in your head and I salute your pool of imaginations. You are an inspiration, always look forward to reading your stuff, pls if you have any published book, let me know, I’d like to get one. Keep it up!

    Like

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