Time, is it an object to be known or a way of being?
Is time ever in the making, happening as it retains within itself the frozen past?
Does “timing” forge man as an actor appreciating inseparability of time and life experienced?
Is Time but a ritual and ceremonial experience draped in the mysteries of both the visible and invisible?
***
Is time a cauldron of marvels and terrors?
A well of terrors experienced before tongues could word unfettered emotions?
Is time but an uncertain territory that exists between memory, dreams, and the unconscious?
Isn’t memory but an evocative constellation emerging from residues of time’s past emotionally charged in the present?
***
Isn’t time but a winter’s fleeting breath howling through raging bones;
A mouse snuck in foliage of forgotten testaments?
Can time redeem lost wills and tombs with forsaken songs borne as yokes,
But lighter than feathers of obsession?
Isn’t time but one’s mirror ablaze with secret ogres and rancid swamps,
Bloated with drowned dreams and fallen monuments?
And wouldn’t it be time for clocks to grind to a halt,
At this questionable time mesmerised by the final rays of setting stars?
By: Khahliso Matela
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