Thursday, November 3, 2011



supplied the theme


It held an important postion
In the pocket of his worsted suit.
It ticked with a dominant ticking;
The fob-watch of a brute.
For The Man was the Head of the Household;
His every word was Law.
He was the Male, the Master,
The creature without a flaw.
His whiskers were wild and bushy,
And so were his beetle-brows;
His wife was meek and subservient,
'Obedience' one of her vows.
His children viewed him with terror,
Whenever they transgressed,
And the chain of his fob-watch glittered
Hanging on his barrel-chest.
He would take the watch out and shake it,
His patience wearing thin,
And glowering at a late child,
For lateness was a sin.
He'd return the watch to his pocket
And then unstrap his belt.
Who can guess at the poor child's misery
As before his father he knelt?
Of course, he visited prostitutes;
'A man has his appetites',
And many were his wife's lonely evenings,
And many her lonely nights.
And, through it all, the watch was ticking,
Ticking masculine power away,
At least in our society,
Right up until today.
There's a great deal wrong with the present day,
There's injustice and there's crime,
But many a Victorian Family
Would think our lives sublime.



I hope no-one will scoff!
Least of all Van Gogh!
Will someone take a bite
Out of his 'Starry Night'?


Ruchi Jain said...

Nice story carved in a poem..

Anonymous said...

Wow... loved reading the great read.