‘Ode to the Fifteenth Hour’
by Aziza Adam
Wembley High Technology College, London, 2019
My closest enemy,
My dearest friend,
We meet again.
The day of Mars*.
No compass, brain fog, raindrop, brains gone
So long, farewell, stairwell
But I’ve already given up
I picture the words, but it’s futile
With no direction, the pain’s infectious and I’m stuck
Like a classic car I rust,
But then I hear the clock tick
It’s exhilarating, it’s electric
At the cusp, it becomes clear, I can see, but more importantly
I can hear,
I hear the words; I feel the vibrations, the temptation of letting
everything flow out
It’s checked by patience.
I wait, until the rhythmic ticks turn hollow and sour
I wait, until the clock strikes
I wait, remembering that a good story is like a flower
* ‘The day of Mars’ – Latin. Origin of the English word Tuesday.