Mark Of A Blind Clockmaker

There once lived a clockmaker
In the young days of New York;
He had no assistant nor protege
To help him with his work.
The reason people found this odd
Was easy enough to find-
The old clockmaker from New York
Was absolutely blind.
His wife and son would help him
At home and till his shop,
But after that he would not bend;
Here they had to stop.
His clocks were works of beauty
And found in places grand,
Priceless and unique was each
As each was made by hand.
The day the world went to arms
The clockmaker's son was enlisted
And while their son was away at war
The balcony window misted.
They were sitting by the fireplace
When a formal telegraph came-
A marksman had locked his sight on their son;
His bullet was true to its aim.
But soon the war was over
And to celebrate this joy,
The mayor had a station built
For trains to travel by.
He asked the clockmaker for his grandest design
to compare to the new structure,
The clockmaker now sat to work
In his mind a sightless picture.
The day they cut the ribbon
And people came to watch
The unveiling of the masterpiece
As they placed it in its notch.
The moment the clock was started
A man in the back exclaimed-
"The clock is counting backwards!"
The clockmaker was to blame.
The clockmaker stood up calmly
And turned to where he heard the voice
And said,"This was no mistake,
I made this error by choice-
I wish to go back in time
To when the war began
And save the lives of people lost-
Every single man.
My wife still weeps now and then
To think of my late son;
I wish to return to the time and place
When the deed was done."
Each person in the audience
Was amazed yet moved to see
What a blind old man would do
To see his son at tea.
The clock was left- error or none
As a message to those who look from across the room
The clockmaker did all he could
To get his child back home.
Who knows what came over him;
To try the impossible,dark,
But if an old man could move so many
Even we could leave a mark

- Anusha Jain (based on a scene from 'The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button')

I Did Not Die

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.


NOTE-this is not by me...

I now wish to give some credit to those who inspired me...

In the form of their works-


A PECK OF GOLD
Dust always blowing about the town,
Except when sea-fog laid it down,
And I was one of the children told
Some of the blowing dust was gold.

All the dust the wind blew high
Appeared like gold in the sunset sky,
But I was one of the children told
Some of the dust was really gold.

Such was life in the Golden Gate:
Gold dusted all we drank and ate,
And I was one of the children told,
'We all must eat our peck of gold'.
-Robert Frost

Your Hands Within Mine