A Sense of Time — Summary

Balachandran VKottayam 30.06.2005Sad

How silly is it of science To say that senses are only five! How insensitive is it of science To censure those beyond the ken!

Eyes screwed up tightly Head turned sideways abruptly Lips clamped firmly Trying to shut in momentarily.

Would it, please, go away Images, sounds, the smells, Words uttered, heard, this sense Of pain, wrenching my heart?

Time exists only in our minds In the recesses of memory Facts of past and fictions of future Time stands still only for those Who cannot remember anymore.

Who cannot remember anymore What it was like to feel the wind What it was like to smell the flowers What it was like to watch the dawn What it was like to love and be loved.

Mother, could you remember, how It felt when you held me up The softness of my cheeks, the light In my eyes that lit up your heart?

What, mother, did you feel Listening to my gurgling laughter The smell of my skin, soft My fingers gripping yours?

Mother, my eyes are squeezed tight But I still see yours wide open Staring at the nothingness That waited, patiently, by your bed.

Time must have stopped for you Long ago, in the grip of the Disease For me, now, Time pauses- Momentarily, waiting for oblivion.

But, then, once in the twilight, When shadows danced in and out, You kissed my hand and looked at me When memory flitted like moonlight From behind the coconut fronds.

The time has come, mother For me to give you one last hug For me to lift you up For once, first and the very last time.

How silly is it of science To limit us to the obvious When waves crash and shatter all When whimpering, you wait for the next.

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The speaker opens by arguing that science is wrong to say we have only five senses, because there is also a sense of time and of pain that no lab measures. From there the poem turns to a mother who seems to be losing her memory to a disease. The speaker squeezes their eyes shut, trying to block out images, sounds and smells that hurt, yet still sees the mother's wide, staring eyes.

Time, the speaker says, lives only in memory, so it stands still for those who can no longer remember. The speaker recalls the mother holding a baby, and asks what she felt then. One small moment of recognition, a kiss on the hand in the twilight, flickers like moonlight through coconut fronds. The mood is tender, grieving and quietly resigned. By the end the speaker is ready to give one last hug, and the closing return to science suggests that grief and love go far beyond what is measurable.

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